Simplicity of a Human Touch
by Future Memory
Summary: The world in which feelings are considered to be an undesirable side effect in a network of human beings makes unlikely allies out of the governments top spy and a boy who represents a flaw in their system. Will she bring him to justice, or will he make her realize that her system isn't just at all? Stelena, AU, all human.
1. Chapter 1

_**\- ELENA -**_

I have removed myself from my bed some minutes ago, which enables him to shift his body from one side to the other - my bed squeals under the density of his body as he rolls from one side to the other. I like to remind myself that it is my bed, not ours, even if he occupies more space in it than me. He occupies more space in my life than me.

I pull my freshly brushed hair into a ponytail before tying it into an impeccable bun. I pull my palms over my stomach, strengthening my simple, stiff black dress. After the Uprising, all stark colors were forbidden, so now the world is mainly black and white. Simple, logical, familiar - as it should be. All the colors and options and choices in the world before were confusing and a source of various conflicts, while the world after the Uprising is empty of them. It is serene and peaceful, where every person has their own task and everyone knows their place.

I apply camel matte lipstick on my lips and decorate my eyelashes with several strokes of mascara for good measure because this world allows you to enjoy things as long as you know how to control your own greed. When I am done, I move away from the bathroom mirror, ashamed for looking at my own reflection for a few seconds longer than was necessary. Mirrors are useful for a number of things, but enjoying your own reflection encourages vanity and can be punishable by several points in the new law. I take my life tracking device from my safe, alongside my gun and clearance badge, and remove several life points from my scoreboard for vanity. I shove the device in my bag before he notices I have made another violation and scolds me for my bad behavior.

I walk over to the bed and sit next to him, moving dark hair strains away from his eyes. I place my other hand on his shoulder and, as I squeeze him by his shoulder bones, I shake him in order to wake him up.

"Hey," I say when he grumbles, displeased by my actions. "You have to wake up, we are going to be late for work." Tardiness was one of ten most common offenses in the world before and we have been warned to avoid it as much as possible.

He slowly opens those big blue eyes of his and sits up, searching for his clothes with a wandering look, my hand slowly slipping from his shoulder, down his burly arm. "Why didn't you wake me up sooner?" he inquires with an expressionless look in his eyes. He doesn't sound angry because anger is categorized as a negative emotion and the use of those can be forgiven only in desperate times.

He remembers we are advised to store our clothes back in the wardrobe as soon as we are done using them in order to emphasize neatness, so he moves away from the bed and starts walking towards the sliding door on the opposite side of the bedroom wall.

"You are already fully dressed," he states calmly while searching for his shelf in my wardrobe. In the world before the Uprising, his tone would have been accusatory. He would blame me for letting him oversleep when I was obviously up and ready for a stretched period of time. Now, the feeling of resentment over small things in life is forbidden, mainly because it leads to pettiness and if he showed any signs of it, he would have to take his life points down for displaying two kinds of negative emotions.

I didn't know Damon before the Uprising. However, his discipline and tendency to follow the rules mean his personality traits probably weren't that much different in the world before since he carries his new found personality way too easy, like he never had to shed his old skin. I, on the other hand, am a different story. In some ways, I was forced to make myself smaller, while in other I had to stretch myself to fit into this world. In the beginning, I used to question everything around me because, in order to behave the way they wanted me to behave, I often had to lie, and there are no circumstances under which lying is allowed. It became clear to me very soon that questioning anything is futile, as well as undesirable.

"I woke you only when it was necessary since I didn't know if you had enough sleep, and depriving you of it wasn't my choice to make," I try to reason with him. We are allowed to make choices for others only if they are unable to make them for themselves.

He nods understandingly since it makes sense to him. I can't decide if it makes sense to me. He finds his uniform, and I watch him dress. His torso is full of well-defined muscles and his arms are strong, so strong he sometimes unintentionally inflicts me pain when I find myself in his embrace.

Passion is recommended, and lust is allowed in healthy doses. Those two emotions lead to procreation and if there is something we need, it is a rise in population. There were a lot of casualties during the Uprising and we still haven't recovered from such an enormous loss.

When he is done with putting clothes on, he walks over to me and gives me a gentle peck on the lips. Love is favored, but it isn't necessary. If love means sex now, if love means accepting someone's proposal to form a living community in order to start a family only because you are aware you probably won't find anyone more suitable than him, then I love him. If love means what it used to mean, I am not sure I even like him. I find it hard to love him when so many emotions which used to make love conceivable are forbidden now.

"Remember," he cups my face with the palms of his hands, caressing my jaw bones with his thumb, "You leave five minutes after me."

He is the Commander of Unit 5, and I am a spy in the same unit, which makes him my superior. The relationship between a superior and their orderly isn't forbidden or frowned upon and others do know we are in a relationship. However, he says our private life isn't something we should rub into other people's faces, especially since we're professionally interlinked as well.

The profession I chose for myself in the world before doesn't exist anymore. I didn't dream of becoming a spy, or the government's soldier when I was a child. This world doesn't believe in dreams or wishes, it is built on skills and capabilities we possess, even if they are hidden deep down inside of our core or occur only in traces. You have to conform yourself in order to accommodate the demands of this world. When the new system came to be, we were exposed to a series of tests - today, they call it _SCG_ or _'Systematic Career Guidance'_ and it consists of a series of physical, mental and emotional exercises a person has to complete in order to find their place in the system. We used to have career guidance in the world before as well, yet we didn't have to do as we were told. They would give us directions, but we were still free to choose our future career by ourselves, even if it wasn't in line with their directions. Now, they don't only tell us what we could do, but what we have to do. The world before ended in chaos because people had too much free will so they created a world which is a complete opposite to everything the world before was, which means that, in this world, free will is very limited, if it exists at all.

I was turned into a spy because I am practical, I know how to think creatively and I am oriented to solving problems. I, apparently, also show very high levels of loyalty.

"Of course," I nod stoically. He smiles at me and steps aside in order to exit the room.

Before he leaves, I catch a glimpse of us in the bathroom mirror. We aren't people. We are two black smears pretending we feel alive.

I take my device out of its hiding place and clasp it around my pale wrist - the metal spikes poke into my skin, and I flinch. The device chimes and my life score increases because I was truthful and took my points down for vanity even when the device wasn't attached to me to track my feelings.

I look at the scoreboard. The only person who has more life points than me is Damon. He is the only person in this world who's less human than I am, and we are often awarded by controlling our humanity.

* * *

I, as many other people who work for the government, live in the Complex which makes my going to and back from work fairly easy. The compound we live on is enormous, of unimaginable size and, I am pretty sure, unmeasurable one. Complex reminds me, at least in size, of smaller cities in the world before, cities so safe people would feel free to leave their doors unlocked. Now, the only city we have is our main city, Urbs, where everyone who survived the Uprising work and live. There are small amounts of people who live on the outskirts, in small villages due to the demands of their work.

I leave my living space and step into the corridor at the same time Bonnie does - she lives in the suite next to mine and works as a tutor for the children who live in the Complex since Urbs is at least an hour away from the compound by car. Education now is at the same time very similar, yet very distant from how it used to be in the world before. Children still do learn a lot of theory such as history, even if now it is only about the Uprising and the world before, math, logic, and similar. However, they are more oriented towards developing, advancing and enhancing their skills so they are prepared for taking _SCG_ once they reach the age of 16. The new system is fair and non-discriminatory towards everyone, so every child receives the same type of education, no matter what their parents do. Child of a doctor and child of farmer have equal chances to evolve and prosper in this new found world, even if children living in the villages have to ride a bus for hours to come to Urbs while children living in the city can reach educational centers in a matter of minutes.

"Good morning," I say.

She cocks her head to the side and smiles at me warmly. "Good morning, Elena. Are you headed in my direction?"

I bob my head as a sign of affirmation and her smile deepens, illuminating her entire face. We both realize the ridiculousness of her question since the corridor has only one direction, yet we allow ourselves this type of irony masked under the pretense of pleasantness since it is the only type of irony we are allowed to use nowadays.

She moved in the suite next to mine six months ago after being promoted from her old job. She used to work in one of the educational centers in Urbs, and now she is officially a government employee, a title of considerable relevance and esteem. I usually walk to work with her, but other than that I didn't have many chances to spend more quality time with her. She seems pleasant, yet afraid; when she talks, I sense enormous amounts of fear in her words.

She walks over to me, her curly ponytail swaying on the back of her head like a mallet inside an old, wooden clock which used to hang on my grandma's living room wall. Our corridor is long and extremely vivid, paved with shimmering white tiles and flashy reflectors in the ceiling at every step.

"What is on the agenda today?" I ask when I notice a stack of white papers in her hands. She is keeping them very close to her bosom, so I can't see what is written on them.

"Oh," she looks down at a pile of papers in her hands like she dismissed their existence until now. "We have a theoretical examination of skills today," she frowns, pulling her eyebrows closer to one another.

I guess the device recognizes dissatisfaction in the tone of her voice since it chimes, announcing the reduction of her life points. Neither of us says anything, nor do we show any kind of shame or discomfort or condemnation, since those reactions decrease our life points as well. They made it very clear to us that our scores, as well as scores of other people, aren't here to scare us or carry any kind of conviction, they are here to make us accustomed to proper and healthy behavior. In the beginning, it was very hard to ignore our own shame when our device would make itself heard in public when we were aware of other people's presence and realization we did or felt something wrong, or forbidden. It was also very hard to avoid raising our heads up in those situations or avoid wondering about their wrongdoings, especially when they were internalized and unknown to us. It was even worse when they made our scores public; people became competitive, because such is our nature, and we had to work very hard to stop thinking of our scores as something we are working towards instead of something we are living with. And we worked hard because, if we didn't, they would keep punishing us. And they could punish us because such actions are justifiable by the law, and the law was written by them.

They think they have created a perfect system, and they have a luxury of thinking that because they were never exposed to it, they are only controlling it. They wanted to make their people behave as they believed they should behave, but the only thing they have managed to do is make people hide their emotions. We became masters at manipulating in our feelings, allowing ourselves only small acts of defiance, acts which can't cause us harm.

"I see," I stretch a smile over my lips.

"And you?" she asks curiously. "Are you at your usual site today?"

By my 'usual site' she means a dark computer room I share with more than fifty other spies. A spy in the world before meant something completely else than it does now. Before, a synonym for a spy was James Bond; today, a spy is a person who sits behind a computer and monitors other people - their behavior, feelings, actions. Every person is assigned a number, which is how I know that sub number 2376 was feeling extremely sad yesterday because their dog has died, so it wasn't an offense. I have no way of knowing who sub number 2376 actually is, where they live, what's their name or sex. I don't have clearance for confidential information, and I would receive it only if I was assigned to the certain sub. Sometimes, when a sub starts showing irregularities, spies track them in order to monitor their behavior in person. If an irregularity can't be explained, but is clearly visible, tracking can last for days, weeks or months even which often demands from spies to create a new persona and somehow infiltrating the sub's life in order to decipher the irregularity.

"We have a meeting in 10 minutes, so we will see," I shrug carelessly.

There is an insanely heavy door at the end of the corridor as if they are keeping a pack of wild animals behind them and not a bunch of people with nowhere to run. Once we pass them, we find ourselves in a foyer which is a meeting point for everyone and everything located in this wing of the Complex.

"Well, this is where we say goodbye," she says like she does every morning.

I nod. "Goodbye! Have a pleasant day at work!" I yell after her since she has already turned her back to me and is walking, with a running step, towards the opposite side of the foyer.

"You too," she yells back, waving at me cheerfully.

I receive life points for kindness, and she probably does too. The foyer is pretty crowded and the only audible thing is the sound of everyone's devices buzzing.

* * *

When I walk into the room, Damon is already there with few of his colleagues. He doesn't even acknowledge my presence and I discover it doesn't bother me too much. Or at all, really.

I assume my place and soon after others arrive as well, and now the oval table is occupied by ten spies and their Commanders. We have ten Units in this wing and the leading spies from each Unit have a seat at the table. Damon and I hooked up after I was named the leading spy which I am thankful for because now no one can say I have the title because of who I am sleeping with. There are only a few behavioral patterns which remained from the world before, and this is one of them: if a woman makes it, people assume it is because a man allowed her to do so.

"It makes me extremely happy to see everyone has made it on time," one of the Commanders says, officially opening the meeting. When Commanders open their mouths to speak, all other noise in the room ceases.

We usually have these meetings once a month in order to solve problems of a more serious nature - we are very successful in eliminating the risks, which is only another reason for them to think their system works. It is easy to solve problems when you are able to invade into people, literally.

However, there is one problem we are unable to eliminate, a problem as old as the new system itself. They are keeping it wrapped deep under the sheets and only very few people are aware of its existence. Its name is sub number 0.

We don't know who he is, where he lives, why or how he is creating such grave problems for us. He doesn't have a record, which means he was never recorded after the Uprising, which makes him a flaw in their system. We have a picture of him because he was more than once captured by the cameras in the streets and facilities of Urbs, yet he was never arrested - he manages to disappear before they even notice him. I think the only reason they notice him is because he wants to be noticed. He is taunting them, which means that he is bold and courageous, which is probably what bothers them more than anything else. They can't control him, and that is why he bothers me as well.

No, I envy him. I envy him because he is the only person here who has managed to preserve his free will.

"Well, all of you probably know why we are here," he continues with a pained expression.

He takes a small black device from the table and places his thumb over the only button on the device. A screen appears on the wall, a screen with his picture.

He is someone I would find beautiful in the world before. He is someone I would find beautiful in this world if being beautiful still mattered. This world doesn't appreciate beauty, it finds it completely irrelevant for its cause, and advocates finding pleasure in simplicity.

My eyes scan his face one more time. He has a strong, supple jaw and the lines of his face are perfectly symmetrical. He probably has an amazing smile, one that breaks and mends hearts at the same time. His eyes are a forbidden shade of green, a color I try to remember every time they show us his picture.

"Sub number zero," Commander says those three words which such hate, hate which is allowed only towards the enemies of the system, only towards those who are trying to poison our new society with the harmful ways of the world before. "He was seen in Urbs six times this month, two times more than the month before."

We are pretty sure he doesn't live in the city because, if he did, we would have found him by now. He probably either lives in the outskirts or the forgotten remains of the world before. We don't know how he enters the city with no accreditations or clearance, which makes us think he isn't working alone. There has to be someone inside the system helping him. However, all suspects have been interviewed multiple times by various spies and Commanders, yet all of them have been cleared of any accusations, especially since they had a clear record with little to no irregularities.

He can't live in the city because we would have found him already, and he can't enter the city because the security is too good, yet here he is. He is our impossible boy.

"He did two small offenses this month. Harmful, but small," another Commander takes over. "We were able to cover them up before anyone actually had a chance to lay their eyes on them."

He never did anything bad, if you take into consideration offenses in the world before. One of his considerable offenses was giving a child an inflated red balloon on her way to the educational center. When she walked in the building with the balloon in her hands, colorful rubber floating in the air attached to a white string, one of the guards pulled an alarm, evacuated the entire building and called the authorities. She was found terrified, crying in the middle of the hallway, which did a serious damage to her life score, something she will have to work hard her entire life to make up for. Her entire family was questioned and detained, especially her parents, until they finally found the recording on camera which backed up her story of an unfamiliar man who handed her the balloon. Her family was released and their life scores suffered a minimal damage, however, she had never received her points back because, in the end, she did accept the balloon. She should have known better. The scandal reached and shocked every single citizen of Urbs - where did the balloon come from, who gave it to her, weren't all colors banned?

As if all colors disappeared simply because several old, white dudes decided we shouldn't use them anymore.

He probably reveled in all the attention he was getting since the city was buzzing with news for weeks to come.

A spy behind me raises his hand in the air, like an attentive pupil.

"Yes, spy Dalton?" the Commander allows him to speak.

"What do you mean by saying _'you covered them up'_?" he inquires.

Commander looks pleased by his question. "Very well, spy Dalton. Allow me to show you," he takes the device from his colleague's hand and presses the button.

The picture changes from the picture of a boy's face to the picture of a wall with _'Are you ready'_ written with thick, black letters across the wall.

"I mean this," he looks at us attentively, studying our expressions. "And this," he says as he presses the button once more, and a very similar picture appears on the screen, this time of a road covered by words _'for another Uprising?'_ written in dark red.

"Can you comprehend the consequences if people saw this?" the Commander raises the tone of his voice.

Yes.

"Hysteria. Mass panic. Maybe even rebellion," he grunts, his thick gray mustache shaking above his upper lip.

Maybe one day, but not today, not now. People aren't ready for a change, they have become accustomed to this way of life, and he knows it - his actions show that he isn't foolish.

Firstly, he will make them doubt you. If one man can play the system like this, imagine the harm a couple of them could cause. He knows the system is fragile, and so do you; that is why you fear him.

The sound of Damon's voice pulls me out of my head.

"That is why we have decided to put a stop to him once and for all," he says, the look on his face hard. "To stop him, we are going to use our strongest weapon - your minds."

"Once you go back to your posts and log into the system, you will find a series of instructions, as well as all the data we have on him," another Commander, the only one as young as Damon, takes over. "Study him. Study his actions and find relevance in them. Absorb yourself in him, try to understand how he is feeling and why he is doing this. Find a pattern in his behavior; your very first task is to profile him. You have three days to make a profile. In three days we will meet again and go over your discoveries. This is your main priority, delegate all your other tasks to the members of your team."

"The data you have received is highly confidential, remember that," Damon warns. "You are dismissed."

Everyone leave their chairs in a hurry. No one's device chimed during this meeting, which shows the success of our training. They have turned us into a human like robots.

I am the last one to leave the room and as soon as I make the turn into the corridor, someone's fingers wrap around my hand, squeezing me with brutal force, creasing my skin and churning my bones.

I can tell it is him as soon as he brings his lips close to my face, whispering into my ear.

"I hope you understand," his breath is hot on my skin, "I expect you to excel in this."

He releases me and disappears back into the room, leaving tears in the corner of my eyes and red marks on my skin as a reminder that, even in a system based on truth, those who possess power are entitled to their lies.

* * *

 _ **AN:** Hello and welcome to my new Stelena story! After finishing Multiverse, I didn't think I would write another story. However, I can't seem to drop writing, and _Stelena _already has a background I'm invested in, so it is easy to allow myself to be pulled back in._

 _Anyway, this will be a dystopian story, one of my favorite genres, one I have never tried writing before. One chapter will be written from Elena's pov, while the other will be written from Stefan's, and_ so _on in order to provide you with diversity in pov._

 _How do you like it so far? I am open to all the feedback you guys have to offer :) talk to you soon, hopefully._


	2. Chapter 2

_**\- STEFAN -**_

I was born into a messy world.

By the time I was born, there were no more clean sources of water, no more food, no four seasons, no green grass. The ground was so damaged and toxic, unable to grow and produce and provide life. The air was polluted, animals became extinct, and the sun grew too big and too warm for human skin to bare. There was no rain or snow or ice, the soil was dry and the wind heavy.

By the time I turned six, people around me looked nothing like me. They were made of dry and scabby skin draped over fragile bones, with sore eyes pushed deep into their skulls. They were hunched over and walked with a limp, and their sickly looking green skin smelled like burned flesh. I had nothing in common with those people; my belly was full, my skin healthy and smooth, my cheeks rosy. I walked solid and tall, and my mother would say my skin smells of strawberries and sun, daisies and freshly mowed grass. All those scents were unknown to me, yet she had remembered them from back in the days when soil was capable of miracles and she would call me by their names.

Our world didn't have much; our world had everything it needed: its technology. We have destroyed the nature which wasn't ours, murdered the animals who were there long before us and wiped the stars from the sky like we control them and not the other way around. However, we have made amazing, admirable and envious technological advances, and thanks to them we were able to produce artificial food and liquids, we were able to make cars, and toys, and books on tiny computer screens.

In a world full of despair and penury, nothing came neither cheap nor free. Everything produced was labelled and sold in triple digits, available only to those who came from money. Money was used to buy necessary items and pieces from Europe and Asia, continents which were harmed far less than ours was, in order to either maintain the quality of our technology or to make further advances. A handful of powerful men were controlling everything, and my father was one of those men.

I was born into a messy world, but I was born into an even messier family.

While a boy my age was dying from food deprivation few blocks over, my mother was cutting into a rubber turkey. And when they lowered his barely visible body into the ground, I was unwrapping my Christmas presents, surrounded by family and warmth and abundance of food, some of which I had the luxury of disliking.

By the time I made it to the age of 16, the scientists have finally made a discovery capable of changing our lives forever. A discovery with an ability to mend our lands and fill our stomachs, heal our bodies and souls.

However, a group of very powerful men, lead by my father, didn't believe human race quite deserves the discovery made by their money and resources, which made people go crazy. They became desperate, they wanted to move forward, to save their children, to live. So they came together and charged forward, decisive to take down those in power and heal the world by themselves, with their own sickly, scabby hands. Today, their actions are known as Uprising.

Rich and powerful were ready and prepared for that, they were expecting it actually, so they locked themselves and their loved ones in their solid homes and tall, impenetrable towers, watching the desperate crowd from afar. I remember people trying to climb over our fence, unknowing it is fueled by electricity. Some of them were taken down by guards before they had a chance to come even close to our estate. They were already so weak and sick and could be taken down by a simple kick or blow; they didn't even have to use much force for their bones to rattle and turn into dust, like a house made out of cards.

They have allowed them to play their silly little games for days before making themselves heard, and by the time they did a good half of the population was already dead either by their own hands, or the hands of the armed forces.

 _'Are you done now?'_ I remember my father's voice echoing in my ears. _'Are you ready to listen to us now?'_ I remember thinking how pleased he sounds since this is something him and his friends were preparing for years.

They knew those less fortunate than us are weak, sick and ready to die. They knew that by telling them that they have found a way to make the world better, but only for themselves, as if our lives weren't already much better than theirs, they would incite anger in them. They also knew that their anger would be their downfall. Only few would remain, but those few would be strong and willing and able to survive long enough to serve as puppets in their newly found world.

There is one thing he didn't lie about - he really didn't think human race deserves anything, at least not the human race he was familiar with. So he decided to change them, backed up by his rich and powerful friends. I will always remember his speech from that day, his hateful words and disgusted tone of voice.

 _'Humans are filthy'_ , he said, _'every single one of us, with our needs and wishes caused by our wild and unpredictable emotions. We need to be controlled, tracked, and measured so that our selfishness never comes even close to destroying the world again.'_

And then, he introduced them to a new system, a system which would allow them to track their emotions, feelings, and thoughts in order to modify their behaviour. Everyone absorbed his words with their heads bowed down; they knew they have no choice, they have to comply in order to survive. That's how the world before was created - world before humans knew how to control their emotions for their own well being.

I realized I don't want to play a part in my father's new world, so I snuck out of our house while everyone was listening to his words of cruelty, and I ran. I ran as fast as I could without knowing where I was going, or if there is anywhere else to go to. I wasn't his favourite son and my father didn't have a habit of checking up on me, so I knew I have an upper hand. I also knew he would never think his own son had betrayed him, which was another advantage of mine.

After several days of walking and running and feeling like I am going to die from hunger and dehydration and exhaustion, I came to a conclusion I am in no imminent danger anymore. I have also realized I didn't exactly think my actions through. The food I packed lasted me for only three weeks, with portions smaller than I could have imagined portions could be. I quickly realized I will die soon from the lack of food and liquids; the sun wasn't that big of a problem since I was able to find shelter during the day, and moved after sun fell down.

I was fortunate, and my luck was way larger than my brain was and after four weeks of moving forward I have stumbled on a miracle - a patch of land completely untouched by the disastrous conditions, with fresh grass, berries I prayed weren't poisonous and few miles away, a small lake. Their scientific discoveries be damned, our planet was healing itself and all it needed for self-healing was the lack of human presence on its surface. I inhaled the fresh scent of grass which wasn't artificial for the first time and I discovered a new definition of happiness.

So I inhabited that land, the land I felt like was only waiting for me, and watched them enforce their system from afar. I watched them build their new world and repopulate it with human-like robots.

I was alone for a long, long time. For over a year.

And then they came, and they haven't stopped coming since then, pouring out of the system like unwanted, unnecessary parts of a badly oiled machine.

* * *

I usually only came to the city when I needed something - food, liquids, blankets, or some piece of technology. Then, one day, I accidentally walked under a street camera. Since all citizens are catalogued and tracked now, the system didn't recognize me and I became only one more of their many red flags they are trying to hide from the people. An unknown. Sub number zero. They claim they don't know anything about me, save for how I look like, which means my family either doesn't recognize me anymore, which is a long shot, or they are keeping their mouths shut, which makes me wonder why. They are at the very top of the food chain, no one can harm them; maybe their shame is greater than their need to stop me. After all, I am one of my father's failures, and he hates dealing with those so he lets other people handle his mistakes as they would their own.

Soon, I became their number one enemy which was kinda hilarious because, if they never saw me on the camera, they would have never even known I was there. I wasn't harming anyone, causing damage or looking for trouble, I was only _'borrowing'_ things they had an abundance of anyway. Things they wouldn't even notice were missing. The more they were stressing over me, the funnier messing with them became, so I started leaving them these little silly messages on the walls in order to mess with their minds. I told the story to few guys back in the shelter, and sooner than I knew it we started imagining scenarios of another rebellion in order to overthrow the leading forces and take over the system.

And now, a few years later we are here, setting up another Uprising.

It is their own fault, really. They were so sure their new system would work they didn't even bother creating a back up plan in case it doesn't. So they injected people with a serum, released tracking devices into their bloodstream, clasped black devices similar to how watches used to look like, but larger, around their wrists, shoved some rules into their minds and hands and expected them to change their behavior on demand. Some were successful in following their orders, either because they believed in the cause, because they mastered their self control our out of fear. Some, on the other hand, didn't. Their life points would rise and fall drastically before going back to zero. Some never managed to move from their initial score. The system didn't know how to deal with failures, so they left them be for a couple of months, allowing them some time to adjust to their new life. When they couldn't notice any change, still unsure what to do with them, they threw them out of the system like they are unsuccessful lab experiments instead of actual breathing, living humans; people with lives and families and purpose.

In the beginning, no one noticed their absence, especially with the rise in population once the system became more or less stable, and living conditions better and more bearable. They were people of lower status, usually pairs or even entire families, as well as those who were left extremely weak and sick after the Uprising. Then, as time passed by, people who had some power or who came from substantial families were disposed of as well due to various violations, which is when we realized we can actually do something. They have left a trace in the system, and back in the city they had families and loved ones who cared for them and who were still willing to help them survive, even if they weren't by their side.

It is their own fault because they are the ones who have created a hole in their own system.

I have no problem with walking into the city with no clearance since one of the guards on the main gates is a brother of a guy they disposed of because he couldn't control his sadness after their father's death. In the new system, when a person experiences a tragedy, they leave them alone for a day. Then, they keep a close eye on them for a week - if their sadness, or despair, or any other emotion they categorize as negative remains on the same level or begins to increase, they send a spy to track their behaviour in person. If the spy decides they are a threat to themselves, people around them or the society, they are gone.

And I am the one who greets them on the other side of the wall.

The guy was a security guard in some big company in the world before as well, so he knows how to manipulate cameras, which is how he is able to let me in unnoticed. He always works night shifts, though, so I can never enter the city during the day which means I have to wait in a secluded area for the day to come, as well as be extra careful in avoiding other cameras.

He sees me from his station, fumbles around his control board and after few minutes waves me in. I leave my hiding place, which is a hole in the ground behind a big bush and approach him.

"Hey, Ed," I nod in his direction. "How are you feeling this fine evening?" I inquire.

"Pissed, as always," he gives me his standard answer.

I grin. The thing is, Ed doesn't look pissed at all, he looks like all the colours of the rainbow are dancing in his fucking mouth. But, deep inside, Ed is probably boiling with anger - anger he didn't possess in the world before, but anger he found and learned how to control in this one.

"I see," I say, still grinning at him. "Well," I reach into my pocket and withdraw a folded piece of paper from its depths. "Maybe this calms your nerves down."

I hand him the paper, and he takes it out of my hands greedily.

"Word from my brother, I assume?" he asks, seemingly unbothered.

"You assume correctly," I confirm.

"Thanks. Your stuff is in the same location as always," he grumbles, waiting for me to leave so he can open his brother's message.

I leave him alone and walk away, moving closer to the city wall, in the direction of my stuff - all black clothes, deactivated device, an ID and a clearance badge so I can throw the authorities off before running away in case they stop me during one of their random check-ups. I remove my normal clothes, which are a big violation - green hoodie and jeans - and dress into the clothes he had left for me. I place my fake credentials deep into my pocket and clasp the device around my hand with a feeling of unease. I can't imagine carrying this thing on me an entire day.

I continue walking towards the city, keeping my body very close to the wall where cameras can't reach me. The city seems still - one would think it is uninhabited if it weren't for the glow of the street lights. By now, everyone is sound asleep, and in only few hours they will start to wake up and leave their houses for work they probably have no will nor passion for.

Once they leave their houses, I will make myself known as well, blending in with them.

Until then, I wait, hidden in the shadows.

* * *

I am pretty sure I know the position of each and every camera in the city by now. When I would come here few years ago, I had trouble avoiding them so I would mostly use underground tunnels in order to move around unnoticed. Back then, my main mission was to reach only one destination while these days my mission is a little bit harder and demands for me to move freely.

After all, I am the face of the rebellion, at least in their eyes.

I wasn't planning on trying to save the world or make it a better place. I wasn't even planning on getting involved. All I wanted to do was live in peace, far away from my father and his evil plans.

But then they came. They started pouring out of the system one by one, two by two, three by three until they started coming in larger groups. Men torn away from their families, young women separated from their boyfriends, children crying for their parents and parents weeping for their children. So I asked myself, how many and how far; how many people are they going to destroy and how far are they willing to go?

When a woman came to us, with a tiny baby in her hands, constantly repeating three names like they are the only words she knew - Dan, Lilly, Michael - names of, we later found, her husband and children, is when I said it stops here.

There is more than 500 of us at the shelter now and resources for that many people are becoming harder and harder to acquire. I have managed to reach some of their loved ones who are willing to help, who are putting aside everything they can, however, helping more than 500 people survive under these circumstances has proven itself much harder than one would think.

I step into the crowd, blending in with the rest of the people. I have learned that if I stick to the crowds the system has a harder time recognizing me. In less crowded places security is lower as well, and by now I know how to avoid cameras in such places - which side of the street to walk on, how many steps to take before moving aside and when it's time to turn around.

Everyone looks the same, dressed in some shade of black or grey or, very few, white. Men have neat, short haircuts while women have their hair tied into a ponytail or a bun. They walk the same, even the echo of their shoes meeting the ground sounds the same. Everything is even and perfect, fabricated and unbearable. As they move coherently, they make one well-synchronized moving tribe, dressed in plain colours.

Every person who was driven out of the system carried one more missing piece of the puzzle with them because the early comers didn't quite understand or remember all the rules. Those who were in the system longer understood it better. It took us years to have a full and complete story, and once we did, some were shocked. No, everyone was shocked, even those who were in the system for a longer period of time, if a realization of how unfair and inhumane the system is had only reached them now.

However, for me, it wasn't much of a surprise; it sounded like something my father would do. He was never an especially kind man or an overly involved father. He was rational and cold, driven and goal oriented. He believed he had a purpose, and his family wasn't it. When I was a child, I didn't pay much attention to the conversations he had with his friends - maybe I should have. Maybe I could have stopped him, reasoned with him, make him see the other side of things.

Deep down, though, I know I could have never achieved such a thing; I have inherited that kind of foolishness from my mother. Blind belief in people and things.

I see her standing on the other side of the street, in the dead corner where street cameras can't reach her. Good girl. My father has managed to place a bunch of things under his control, yet not even him can control the way streets bend and curve in order to serve their functional purpose.

She sees me coming her way and a wide smile appears on her face. Her level of happiness has spiked up, and whoever is in charge of monitoring her will desperately try to find the reason for her sudden mood swing, rather unsuccessfully.

Just as I am about to cross the road, a woman in all black appears in front of her, blocking my view. I know I can't stop moving because that's simply not how things work here, I would only attract unnecessary attention to myself. So I slow down, at least until she manages to look at me over the other woman's shoulder and gives me a nod, indicating that she is okay and not in any imminent danger.

I continue walking on my side of the street until I reach another crosswalk, which I use to cross the road while keeping my eyes on the two of them. I need to give her a signal that I will be back as soon as the intruder is gone, so I keep walking in their direction.

I carefully study the woman she is talking to - she is about our age, early twenties, dressed in a simple black dress which seems to have become one with her skin, emphasizing her attributes. She is slim, but strong; I am pretty sure I would have a hard time beating her if she ever challenged me to a game of arm wrestling. Her slick brown hair is tied into a big bun and I don't know why, but I let my mind wander off into thinking what would she look like with her hair pulled down.

I can't see her face, but judging by my friends' expression, they seem friendly enough with each other. So I wink at her when I approach them, signalling her to wait for me, and the corners of her mouth fall deeper into her soft, white skin.

I make a circle around the care facility in whose proximity we were supposed to meet since I think crossing the road back and forth could seem like a suspicious move to those behind the cameras.

When I make another turn in their direction I can see them saying goodbye from afar.

And she is walking in my direction.

Fuck.

Stay cool.

I keep looking forward with an expressionless look on my face. That's what people are doing now, walking down the street and acting like nothing can distract them or throw them off their game, not even an extremely beautiful girl walking towards them.

Or an extremely beautiful enemy.

Fuck, she is beautiful. The lines of her face have aligned perfectly, like a constellation of stars I saw in my mother's old books when I was a child. She has faint traces of makeup on her face, which is completely unnecessary in my opinion.

I look down at the clearance badge clipped on her dress, above her breasts, trying to convince myself I am trying to sneak a peek at her position instead of her name. I don't even reach her name due to the recognizable red flag on her badge, something I was warned to stay away from.

Fucking hell.

I try to lift my gaze from her badge without her noticing only to catch her already looking at me, only to catch her breaking one of their own rules. No eye contact with random strangers on the street, unless it's in your free time - other people are a distraction and diversion, especially those of opposite sex.

Our eyes meet and hers widen as soon as they fall on my face, studying me like we are old friends. _'I am so busted'_ , I think as I keep looking at her, unable to look anywhere else. Well, if someone had to discover me, I am glad it is her. I wouldn't mind her face being the last thing I see before I go. But then her eyes go back to their normal size and she diverts her gaze as if nothing had happened.

Maybe I reminded her of someone she knew in the world before.

Once I finally reach her, she is looking at me with a worried look in her eyes; I can hear her device chiming. I give her a reassuring look and she calms herself down, the unpleasant sound dying off.

"Caroline," I say her name like it's a song. "Care to explain to me why you seem to be friends with a spy?"

We are standing at the entrance to the underground parking of the care facility she is working in where cameras from the streets can't see us anymore, and the camera's from the entrance to the underground passage is well behind us.

We move deeper into the shadows. She is dressed in her nurse uniform so no one would question her being here if they accidentally stopped by.

She cocks her eyebrow at me. "Care to explain to me why you seem to think my personal life is any of your business?"

My jaw drops wide open and I scratch myself at the back of my neck. "It isn't," I say with a wrongful tone of voice.

I guess she takes pity on me since she replies anyway. "I knew her in the world before. We used to be friends back then as well. She isn't like them."

Hope rises in my chest like a balloon. "She is one of us?"

"No," she shakes her head, an inexplicable shimmer appearing in her eyes. "But she could be."

"Please promise me you won't do anything stupid," I say, trying to hide my disappointment. "At least not without me knowing," I grin.

She nods seriously like she's on a mission. "I promise. Now, I have to go," she pushes a black plastic bag into my hands. "Here's everything you asked for."

"Thanks, beautiful," I wink at her, this time without any pretences or secret signals.

"Oh, be still my heart," she rolls her eyes, and her device chimes again. Sarcasm, not allowed. She doesn't seem to notice, or care. "One of these days your sweet talk will get you into big trouble, Salvatore."

"I'm counting on it," I joke.

* * *

 **AN:** _How are you liking Stefan's pov?_


	3. Chapter 3

_**\- ELENA -**_

I can feel him inside me, spread over every inch of the deeper layers of my skin, like soft, melted butter.

He used to live only in my mind, and I welcomed him there. He was on my territory, on a surface I could control and turn on and off as I pleased.

He's everywhere now, like an alien body travelling in my bloodstream like it's a freaking roller coaster.

When I wake up, he stirs as well, somewhere in my depths. He's there when I wash my teeth, take a shower, have a meal, walk down the corridor with Bonnie, work, have intercourse with Damon.

He's an unwanted companion, one I am doomed to bear because he's my duty now.

I drive my sore spine into the back of my spongy, comfortable, black leather chair and exhale, allowing the papers in my hands one more look. Two months ago, they have commanded us to deliver them his profile. I delivered.

A white man in his early twenties.

 _With ashy hair and eyes the colour of young, fresh grass shimmering under the morning sun._

Healthy. In good shape, physically speaking. Agile. Mentally strong, above average intelligence. All these notes indicate he was either raised in a well-standing family in the world before or he had discovered a way to mend himself after the Uprising with zero help from the modern medicine. The system perceives both options as very unlikely, statistically speaking.

 _His muscles are well-defined - the shape of the letter V carved around his stomach is traceable on sample 56, scene 4, when he raises his arms in order to lift himself up. He has two strong arms and a heavy jaw._

His mission has alternated over time. In the beginning, he didn't have a mission, or it was unclear from his early sightings. It seems like he came to Urbs looking for something, or someone. A year later, his actions changed. He became more rebellious and started communicating with us by destroying our public property. His motives changed, which means something in his life had probably changed as well, however, it's unclear what exactly. It's also unclear how he had managed to survive all these years, and where.

Someone's device chimes and I throw a stack of papers in my hands onto the desk. You would think a room full of spies would be mute, however, it isn't. Sometimes, while monitoring people, spies become too emotional and too affected by other people's lives and the device recognizes their consciences as an irregularity. And having a conscience isn't a redeeming quality anymore.

The analysis window appears on my computer screen, a flag next to one spy's name flashing brightly red.

Colours may be forbidden from the common use, however, they're often used for practical reasons, especially colour red. The colour of blood is a sign of danger.

I click on the spy's name and message him over the server, my fingers heavy on the keyboard.

 _'This is your second warning this week, Davis. There's no third one. Control yourself.'_

 _'Yes, ma'am,'_ he replies steadily. _'May I use my bathroom break now?'_

 _'Of course.'_

Somewhere in the room someone moves a chair, its metal legs scraping loudly over shiny tiles and a young man crosses the room, heading towards the door with a stern expression on his face.

I rub my eyelids with my thumbs in order to clear my view and my mind.

Damon is very satisfied with my progress. He even smiles when I talk about my new discoveries, and he rarely smiles. He's acting like all of this is a game to him, like I'm a winning mare he needs to train in order to prove something. To whom, I have no idea.

However, this research is taking a massive toll on me. The more I dig into him, the more questions I have. I carry him with me everywhere I move and he's in my mind every second I spend awake. I am a pretty objective and unbiased person, but they have commanded us to create a complete stranger's identity based on the recordings of his face and several actions. People aren't projects, and this is one of the main reasons why they should never be.

I wonder do other commanding spies feel like this too, like he's their own creation, like they own him in a way. As if they lay any rights on him.

I have become personally invested in him. When I'm not researching him, I'm casually thinking about him, trying to find reasons behind his actions. Sometimes I even think about where he lives, is he cold, where are his clothes from, where does he procure food and liquids from... does he have someone to talk to?

I take the papers from the table and shove them into my bag, my mind all wrong and fuzzy.

However, my facial expression is blank, and my emotions calm. I have gotten so used to this way of living that if someone asked me to convey my emotions the way I used to, I probably wouldn't know how. I can feel all of my emotions and feelings buried deep down inside me, pressing at my organs, yet I keep them contained, never allowing them to resurface.

I walk over to the spy sitting close to my desk. "Milly," I touch her shoulder gently and she turns around, her blue, curious eyes in a search of mine. "I'm leaving. You're in charge now. Call me only in case there's any trouble," I try to keep it as simple as possible, she knows what needs to be done.

She nods, the same expression still plastered over her face, like she painted her face on a canvas she later glued on her head before leaving for work this morning.

I smile approvingly and nod back at her before disappearing into the corridor which leads to the foyer.

He's becoming more of a distraction than I initially thought he would be. Like a parasite gnawing at me, demanding attention.

I clench my fists as I walk towards the foyer. I won't let him do this to me, destroy me like this. The system isn't flawless, but it's way better than before when we didn't have anything to eat or drink, and when everyone around me suffered a slow, agonizing death. I am doing fine now, I have a good job and a good life and I won't let some friction in the system take that away from me.

I calm myself down as I enter the foyer which is less crowded than during the morning and late afternoon hours, but still crowded. I say hello to several acquaintances I meet on the way.

Three weeks ago I was in Urbs heading back to the Complex from a mission. One of our newer spies messed up his sub tracking and I was called in to fix the situation. On my way back home I stumbled upon Caroline who was catching her breath in the parking entrance of the care facility she works in after an apparently complicated surgery. Health rate inside the Complex is pretty much stable. Urbs, however, is a completely different story. I spared a few minutes in order to stop and talk to her. She's my friend and I enjoy her company and I don't see her as much as I wish I would. After few minutes of pleasant chatter we said our goodbyes and, while walking down the street, I saw him.

Those beautiful green orbs of his, well-shaped pink lips, overall pleasant looking face. I broke a rule and maintained eye contact with him. I'm sure the authorities would understand my need to bypass the rules in order to identify and catch an enemy of the system.

Tired, shaken, confused and surprised, I quickly snapped out of it. It couldn't have been him. He wouldn't dare come into the city during the busy hours and risk getting arrested. Would he?

He would. That's what makes him so dangerous. He's good at pretending that he's one of us.

If anyone knew I saw him and didn't catch him, or alert the authorities, I would be in a world of trouble. All it would take is someone noticing us pass by each other on the camera. They would never believe me I didn't recognize him, I've been seeing his face monthly for over a year now. I know I should have gone to the authorities, but it's been three weeks now, and I can only imagine the accusations they would bestow upon me. Doesn't matter if I think I was mistaken, it was my place to tell them so they could further investigate.

I was also ashamed of them knowing I passed by him and froze. I can't even begin to imagine the things Damon would think of me, or say them aloud, to my face.

So I was successful in making myself believe it wasn't him. It was someone who resembled him. Or maybe I was completely and utterly delusional from fatigue.

It's been three weeks and no one came for me. No one saw us on the cameras, which allowed me to feed my illusion that it wasn't him even more.

I'm going insane with my obsession over sub number zero. An obsession which is slowly becoming more than professional.

I unlock the front door of my condo and let myself inside.

I take a deep breath.

I won't let him ruin my life.

* * *

A loud triple knock on my door pulls me away from a dream I can't seem to remember. Maybe it's for the better.

I jerk, lifting my head up from the dining room table covered in a pile of scattered papers. I must have fallen asleep while working on the tragic case of sub number zero.

Another knock on the door. Convinced it can't be Damon since he has the key, I stand up from an uncomfortable position my body twisted itself into while sleeping on a kitchen chair and walk towards the door.

As soon as I open them big, blonde curls flash before my eyes and her body pushes gently into mine as she comes in, knowing very well she has an open invitation to every space and inch of my life.

"God," she exhales, "I'm so tired! This day feels like it's never going to end!" she complains and her device chimes loudly.

Her body plops on my sofa and she pulls her limbs into, to me, unimaginable positions, like she's made out of paper. "So. Much. Work," she mouths slowly, and her device makes itself known again. A devilish smile makes an appearance on her face which is how I know it's time to close the doors before she saying something she would hate for others to hear.

Caroline has found a way around the system. She works as a nurse at the care facility since she's, by nature, kind and helpful and bubbly. Her attitude at work brings her a whole bunch life points which allow her to blow off some steam in her personal life, balancing her life score in the golden middle. If she ever tried controlling her emotions her life score would probably be higher than Damon's. He says he dislikes her because of her crafty hidden rebellious streak, but I think it's actually because he knows she could beat him in this new game of life if she wanted to.

When I don't say anything, when I don't even scold her for her behaviour, she narrows her eyes. "Bad time?" she asks, pulling her body into a sitting position.

"No, no," I shake my head, giving the papers full of classified information on my table another look from the corner of my eye. "I was - I fell asleep."

"Already? It's quite early," she makes a note of my unusual behaviour.

"Well, yes," I agree, moving in the direction of the table in order to tidy up the mess I've made. "I was working at home today and I guess I fell asleep. Which reminds me..." I lift my hand and take down some of my points for sloppiness.

There are some things the device is unable to recognize. I fell asleep while working, but the device can't know that since, technically, I wasn't even supposed to be working at this hour. Sometimes, the system relies on our truthfulness and our belief in it, as well as our ability to recognize our own mistakes and confess them.

Caroline exhales, displeased by my actions. She never said anything, yet you can see from her behaviour that she's not a big believer in the system. I knew her in the world before, she lived only a few blocks away from me - far enough to enjoy the comforts of her life and close enough to see the consequences our actions and decisions had on those less fortunate than her. She was my friend, she was sympathetic and kind, but I always knew she could never understand the position me and my family were in. She held my hand during the hard times, and she would often sneak food out of her house for me to eat and my mother told me few times too many that Caroline's kindness is the only reason I've managed to survive for this long. Despite her kindness she would go back home as soon as it started getting dark, few minutes before the sound of curfew filled our streets, where she was tucked in comfortably in her bed, with a cup of cocoa next to her, safe behind the steel doors of her house, never having to worry about someone breaking and stealing whatever possessions they owned.

Caroline has a luxury of resenting the system because it took something away from her, while it only granted good things to me. Being unable to express my emotions seems like a small price to pay for my safety.

"Here," she bounces from my sofa and stands up, moving towards me. "Let me help you."

"No!" I raise my voice, yanking the papers away from her and she stops dead in track. "You really shouldn't see those, they're for work," I look at her under my eyelashes, apologetically.

It's work. It's confidential. And she doesn't have clearance.

But it's more than that.

 _I don't want to share him with her. I don't want to share him with anyone._

"Okay then," she responds, obviously affected by my tone of voice. However, she chooses to leave it alone. "How about I pour us a glass of wine? You obviously need to relax."

"I don't have any wine."

"I know that," she says playfully, reaching for her bag out of which she pulls a slim, green bottle of red wine. "I do, though."

I look at her before looking at the bottle; I continue exchanging looks between the two of them for several upcoming seconds before smiling pleasantly at her awaiting face. "Sure, Care, that sounds lovely."

By the time I tidy up the mess I've made and discard all the papers into my bag which I hide into the depths of my wardrobe, she pours us two very big, very round glasses of red wine.

She hands me mine in the passing and sits back on my sofa, pulling her legs up and curling them underneath her body.

"So, how's everything with Damon?" she asks with a strain in her voice.

I look at her with a soft smile on my face and a decent amount of surprise in my eyes before taking my place next to her on the sofa. She never liked Damon much and she was never shy about admitting it.

"Fine." I take a sip of wine. It's good wine, but then again, I expected nothing less from her.

"Fine?" she raises her eyebrow at me. "Elena, you've been in a relationship with him for more than two years now and all you have to say is fine?"

"Well," I click my tongue, "Everything is fine. And fine is good."

And honestly, everything is fine. The food we share is fine. The conversations we have are fine. The sex we have is fine.

"Good," she drags the word as far and as long as possible, nodding into the distance. "You know, some relationships have states far better than good."

I can't say things are better than good because sometimes, maybe all too often, I'm afraid of him. Of his words and reactions and, quite honestly, sometimes even actions. He would never inflict pain on me, at least not intentionally, and especially nowhere other people would be able to see.

"I have this friend," she starts, and I give her a pointed look.

"Relax, I'm not trying to set you up with someone. Actually," she frowns, pushing her thin, barely visible brows closer together. "It would be quite impossible to set you two up. But, if it were, in some other life or universe or whatever, I think the two of you would really kick it off."

"Why do you say that?" I ask curiously. Her words have no pressure on me. Caroline has too many friends while, at the same time, I am her only friend. Every person she shares a conversation is her friend in her mind.

"I don't know," she says wistfully. "There's something sad when it comes to both of you. It's like you experience sadness in the same way."

I look at her, kinda offended, ready to defend myself.

I'm not sad, I'm -

Well, I'm not happy. I'm not sure we're allowed to be happy, or supposed to be.

I'm not anything.

"Anyway," she disrupts the direction of my thoughts, which really wasn't a good direction anyway. "A cute, new doctor started working in the facility this week..."

She starts talking excitedly, and I lose myself in her story with a peaceful state of mind.

* * *

"Even after two months, you people have nothing!" one of the Commanders yells, grey strains shimmering in his dark hair under vivid lights embedded in the ceiling. "You are all spies with an impeccable performance and you're unable to solve the mystery surrounding one person!"

Damon gives me a hard look, disappointment traceable on his face.

I bite my lower lip.

"Does anyone have anything to say? Any ideas? It doesn't even have to be good, it doesn't even have to make sense, I simply want confirmation that the wheels inside your head are still turning!" his clenched fingers collide with a hard, wooden desk and the sound echoes through the room, residing in my eardrums for several upcoming seconds before it fades away.

Everyone in the room remains quiet; I look at other spies, my peers, I look at their blank expressions knowing very well how desperate and terrified they all feel.

"Pitiful," the Commander spits at us, and Damon's jaw clenches. Every failure of mine is a failure of his, at least that's how he sees the situation.

I raise my hand in the air. "Sir," I say with vigour, even though my true, inner voice is timid. "Permission to speak?" I press my lips together.

"Yes! Finally!" he exclaims, elated someone dared to speak up.

"I've been thinking and, well, do we really not know his name?" I can see some other Commanders behind him squirm and I realise how wrong my question sounds, so I try to take my accusation back. "I'm not trying to imply that you've been lying to us, but maybe you've been trying to protect his innocent family from his betrayal by hiding his lineage," I swallow, fearful of the consequences my words could have, especially when I notice Damon flinch behind him.

"No," he admits. "We really have no idea who he is."

I nod. "So, that means he was never recorded after the new system was established?"

"Well, yes..." there's a confused expression on his face, like this is all a brand new information for him.

"Well, if he wasn't recorded, maybe there are others who haven't been recorded either. We've always assumed he's working with someone within the city lines, but what if he's working with someone outside the city lines?"

Silence. The Commander turns around to look at his colleagues. Some of them look stunned, while some show off a smirk.

"If there are more people we don't know of, it means they have families here," another spy adds his own conclusion in the mix. "We've been looking into potential traitors on powerful positions, which was a wrong approach. Numbers often have an advantage over power."

 _Numbers are power._

And small people can make a difference.

"Okay," the Commander nods, seemingly satisfied. "What now?"

"We try to find them," someone behind me says.

"No," I disagree. "We infiltrate."

"Explain," he commands, looking at me with a mix of feelings I can't quite decipher. Arrogance. Hatred. Fear.

"We come up with a story, and we send someone in order to discover where they live. We would have to remove their device and come up with another way to communicate with them, of course. But if we send one of our own people out there, and if we infiltrate their ranks, we can take down their entire operation, including the people who are helping them inside the parameters."

"If there's more of them, then this guy isn't the brains, he's simply the face of the rebellion. And a face can be replaced."

After a minute of complete and utter silence, the Commander pulls a big, wide smile across his face, approaches me and places his palms on the desk.

"Congratulations, it seems that you're going on a mission."


	4. Chapter 4

_**\- STEFAN'S POV -**_

I'm unable to fall asleep. My mind is a hive of unsolicited thoughts, buzzing and screeching, resolved to keep all of my wannabe dreams far away from me.

I can see star silhouettes over the thin fabric of my tent; they have reappeared on the sky around a year ago, like slightly larger and brighter fireflies, both of which I have only seen in my father's old books back when I was a child, until now.

I tear my eyes away from the starry canvas and look at the woman sleeping peacefully on my numb arm, her chocolate locks framing her sharp, yet sweet face. I shake her off gently and place a folded hoodie underneath her head before crawling away from my obscure living space into the wilderness.

I look around myself; everything is so quiet and still. I remember back when I was all alone here and now there are so many colourful tents stretched across the healing land you can't actually see where they end. We have few wooden sheds - two kitchens, four bathrooms and few closed off rooms where we usually place mothers with small children. We have assembled the tents pretty close to one another, for safety reasons. Some people have moved theirs farther away, mainly couples, in order to preserve some semblance of intimacy.

I walk over to the rock near the pond and place myself on top in order to be closer to the moon and all the tiny stars surrounding it; in the world before, I knew the moon and the stars from my mother's stories and her conviction I will see them too if I close my eyelids. They are more beautiful in person than they were in my dreams.

She's also more beautiful than any other woman I know. Not the woman sleeping under my covers - if only she was the one invading my mind and keeping me up, my situation would be way less complicated and I would probably be sound asleep now. She is pretty, but she is also lonely and heartbroken and I know that, when she looks at me, she doesn't really see me.

I can't empty my brain of images of her ever since I saw her in Urbs that day. I keep coming back to her like she's a character in a book, someone who isn't real, yet I desperately wish she was. I keep imagining her in numerous positions, doing various things, and my favourite one by far is trying to imagine her smile and then wonder is my imagination even close to reality.

How is it possible for a person to leave such an impression on me after one encounter?

"Hey," she materializes next to me, and I try to behave as if her appearance hasn't startled me - as someone whose face the people in the core of the system know well, I should really be more careful.

I pull myself out of my mind, away from my pleasantly comforting thoughts, and nod at her. "Hey," I reply, scurrying over the rock's surface in order to make room for her.

She sticks her torch into the mushy ground, illuminating the dark space around us, before climbing on the top of the rock.

"You can't sleep either?" I ask. She sits next to me and rests her head on my shoulder, exhaling tiredly.

"No," she answers grumpily, obviously annoyed at her insomnia. "Also, Andy and Kim are at it again," she says bitterly. She claims she would never choose a companion under the circumstances we live in, however, everyone who has coupled up annoys her extremely, probably because she thinks those people have made peace and accepted our circumstances which is something she can't allow herself to do. And she's afraid we're going to live like this forever, which would entail her staying alone forever, never allowing herself to experience love or pleasure of falling asleep next to another warm body.

"Ah," is the only sound I manage to produce.

Lexi is my friend and I have never had one of those. In the world before I wasn't very popular or sociable and the only people I had contact with on daily basis were my mother and brother. I also knew Caroline, she was the daughter of my mother's physician and he would often bring her with him to our house to me, to this day, unknown reasons. She was hyper and talkative and ecstatic, everything I never was, so I mostly listened to her talk and answered only some of her many questions.

She saw me running away. She was standing on her balcony, staring into the pitch black darkness, never-ending nothingness stretching behind our homes. I was running, quickly and clumsily, and tripped on something stuck in the hard, dry ground. I fell and cried due to the aching, dull pain surrounding my ankle. I could still see the row of houses, mansions we did nothing to deserve, as well as the faint lights of our neighbourhood. I was inclined, for some reason, to look up only to catch her looking back at me. She didn't say anything, she only stared at me with a blank expression on her face, her lips pulled into a thin line. We exchanged an empty look before I stood back on my feet and started running again.

"How about you?" Lexi murmurs. "Your, um, lady friend - "

"Meredith," I say her name matter of factly. I should have more emotion for a person who's falling asleep in my arms at least once a week.

"Meredith," she repeats her name. "Her presence can't help you fall asleep?"

I press my lips into a line, and I keep pressing them until they turn completely white. "No," I say. Actually, her presence often makes it only harder because she reminds me of everything she isn't, and I know I am the same for her. Yet, the human brain would rather inflict itself pain than feel nothing at all.

"You know," she lifts her head from my shoulder, her look burning into my skin. "You've been acting kind of weird lately. Did something happen, here or... over there?"

Did something happen? Yes, and no. How to explain the haunting feeling of a brief encounter I had with a stranger? A stranger who would, without giving it a second thought, lock me up for my crimes.

She isn't any woman, she is a spy, a pawn of the system. A very dangerous one.

"No," I lie, openly and blatantly. "Sometimes I wonder what we're doing here? What are we trying to achieve? Overthrow the government, crush the system, make the world a better place?"

"Yes," she nods excitedly, suddenly full of energy. "All of that."

"And then what?" I frown.

"Then we create something better."

I look away from her, raising my head up towards the stars, wishing I could be one of them. "I don't think I know how to do that," I admit fearfully.

After several seconds of stunned silence, she whispers - "Anything is better than this."

I don't dare to look at her, not after those words. Unlike her, I wasn't ripped away from my family because I didn't feel the way the system wanted me to feel. I left, willingly.

She scoots away from me, sliding down from the rock onto the ground. "You should really try to catch some sleep, Stefan. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow," she plucks the torch from the ground and walks away from me.

* * *

My father was a collector of everything. He liked owning things, especially rare things he knew no one else had access to. He didn't need them or enjoy them, he simply liked that they gave him power, even if it was a superficial one. He would lock them in a museum-like room and never granted them attention ever again.

That room was my playground. I would sneak into it and spend my days there which was the only positive thing about being an invisible son. While my brother was off with our father in his study, learning the tricks of their sick trade, I was able to read and explore and learn... and remember.

And I have remembered so many magnificent things, things my parents had when they were my age, when the world was full of sunshine and happiness and wonderful possessions. Handy inventions, some of which can be made easily if you're crafty enough and have good material.

Thankfully, I have a good memory even if good material is hard to come by these days.

"Okay," I yell once the guys lift one more wooden board and even it with the others, already standing ones. "I think we can take a break now."

All of them nod, wiping sweat from their foreheads with the back of their hands, walking away from our tiny, crowded construction site.

We are building another bathroom before we move on to additional living facilities. There's more and more of us each year and, since the planet is renewing itself, we can't tell what the weather will bring. Our tents will do us no good in snow, storm or pouring rain.

Rebellion gang thinks we are going to overthrow the system before we finish building and, according to them, we're only wasting our time. Maybe we are, but I can see no reason good enough to risk people freezing to death.

The sun is still very warm, but at least it isn't dangerous for the skin anymore. Before, people would get burns and blisters if they stood in the sun for too long.

Our little camp is divided into five mixed groups: constructors, scavengers, caregivers, caretakers and guards.

Constructors are in charge of building additional facilities and maintaining existing ones. Every morning, scavengers load wooden brackets on their backs and leave looking for food and water. Caregivers are taking care of the food we have managed to grow here, as well as preparing meals while caretakers are taking care of the children. Guards are, well, guarding and keeping an eye for newcomers.

Rebellion gang, popularly called, in the sixth and unofficial group. Everyone wants things to change, however, not everyone wants to participate in the change.

I look into the distance, towards the camp - I can hear the chatter of voices from a mile away. We have decided to spread a little; not a lot, due to safety, but enough for everyone to be comfortable. If people have to live in exile, the least we can do is allow them a bit of privacy.

The only problem is that we have only one drinkable source of water nearby which is, slowly, disappearing. It will last us for, approximately, another few months before it completely disappears. Another drinkable source is 20 minutes away which isn't all that far, however, it would be impossible to bring water in daily for such a big number of people. Which means we will have to move unless another source magically appears.

That's a worry for another day, though. Here, we live day by day because we really don't have any other choice. We aren't the ones who make the rules, even if some of us are working hard to change that.

I can hear a cheery song in the distance; the caregivers are coming back, and they always announce their arrival with a song. They say it makes their back pain bearable.

As I recite this in my head, as a reminder behind the reason why I wake up and continue working effortlessly every day, I realize I sometimes make this place sound perfect, or good.

It isn't.

No matter what their job is, people are constantly in pain. They sleep on the ground and have to pray each day scavengers will manage to find enough food for all of us to survive. Their days are the same, which can make life seem pointless, and they are working to build a life they don't want to live. Everyone misses someone and, whenever guards announce new arrivals, everyone hopes it's someone they know which only makes them feel guilty later because they wouldn't want this kind of life for anyone they care about. Parents cry whenever their children show any kind of excessive emotion because they remind them they will never be able to give them a life they need or deserve.

A big majority of them is desperate and hopeless. They barely communicate with anyone and they don't believe the rebellion will succeed in changing anything.

Once I reach the camp, I stop by the kitchen Meredith works in. She was initially assigned to be a caretaker, but she refused to be anywhere near the children so she was transferred to the kitchen. She notices me and smiles, nodding. I nod back at her as a form of a greeting.

Meredith and me, we have an understanding. We don't exchange words, or thoughts, or experiences. We are here for one another when it gets too hard to breathe for either of us, no questions asked. Both of us are trying to drown our own demons - her body is an ocean in which I bury my heavy thoughts, and mine represents the same for her.

"Stefan!" someone calls my name and I look towards the big, green tent few rows over, at the very entrance of the camp. Matt gestures for me to come over and I make my way towards the group of men shuffled around a desk.

When I come closer, I can see that they're studying a map of the Urbs I have managed to snatch during one of my visits.

"What's this place called again? One where all government officials work and live?" Matt puts his finger on the top of a big, empty square on the map.

"Uh, Compound."

"Sounds pompous," one of the guys says.

"You think you can get in there?"

"No," I snort, fairly sure in my answer. There's no way. Even if I do manage to go in, I'm pretty sure I would never manage to come out, at least not alive. "It's heavily guarded."

"And we have no one on the inside?"

"Uh," I scratch the back of my head. "I can ask around, but I'm pretty sure our connections don't run so deep. Why?"

"It's basically the only place where we can do some serious damage," Alaric chimes in.

Alaric has been pretty helpful in this entire process. He's kinda older than we are and his father used to be in the army, so he picked up on some nifty tactics over the years.

"Well, even if we do manage to go in, I bet there are guards and controls everywhere inside." In Urbs, guards and other officials can ask you for your identification anywhere, anytime. "We would need one hell of an escape plan."

Alaric nods with a serious expression on his face. "Of course."

I can practically hear the wheels inside his head turning. _Oh boy._

"Newcomer!" one of the guards yells, cutting our conversation off.

His voice echoes through the entire camp, and I can already hear people stumbling forward.

* * *

I and a few of the guys from the Rebellion gang run towards the guards and the woman-shaped figure behind their massive bodies.

Others stop in place, propping themselves on their toes in order to see the newcomer better, whispering among each other, trying to guess who's joining us - praying it isn't someone they know, and praying it's someone they do at the same time.

The only thing I can see are her sneakers - white and clean, like she was saving them for this occasion.

One of the guards turns his entire body around, now walking backwards, in order to say something to her. Long, lean legs dressed in black leggings and flat, brown hair appears in my line of sight, slowly completing the mystery of her identity. Does she know anyone here? Is she someone's daughter, sister, wife?

Once the guard turns around and leaves his place by her side to run up to me to notify me the details of her arrival, I notice that she's wearing a backpack. They have let her pack before exiling her?

Well, I guess there really is a first time for everything. Maybe they have gotten softer, or maybe she used to be someone important, someone whose status made sure she gets exiled comfortably.

"Stefan!" the guard whose name I can't remember, which is something I now feel guilty about, calls me by my name once he approaches me. "We have a newcomer. One of our men in the rural parts notified us that there's a woman stumbling around the village, so we picked her up."

"What's her name?" I ask while watching her approach.

She's tiny, but she seems... she feels bigger than she actually is. Why is she so familiar to me?

The guard turns his head back to look at her. "Well, she didn't say," he says, feeling guilty because he knows identity check is the number one rule. "I think she's still in shock."

I cock my head to the side. Well, she doesn't look like she's in shock anymore.

She looks... beautiful.

Jesus, she's dressed like she's going for a run, not getting evicted from her home and life and everything and everyone she knows. I guess she looks kinda confused, but she's also determined; to survive, I guess.

A feel like I know her, like I have already seen her somewhere, and that feeling keeps weighing on me until she comes so close she's practically standing in front of me.

She's the woman I've seen in Urbs. A spy.

If she knows me or remembers me, she doesn't let it show - her face remains completely blank.

Why would she remember me? I was simply yet another person she passed by that day.

However, I was a person she broke one of their big rules for - maintaining eye contact with a stranger.

But before I have a chance to say anything, she faints, falling on the ground before me.


	5. Chapter 5

_**\- ELENA'S POV -**_

A week before my departure from Urbs, Council of Commanders have scheduled me a date with the doctor. We have only one care facility in the Compound, however, it's the leading facility in entire Urbs due to the enormous financial investments from the officials living here who have inexhaustible funds and whose well-being depends on the quality of the care provided. Every medically educated individual wants to live and work here since medical staff here has the access to the majority of available resources, newly funded medical equipment, as well as laboratories and research facilities. Not only is the pay better, so are the life points - the more important the person whose life you save is, the more life points you receive for your good deed.

The doctor detached my device from my arm carefully, packed it into a tiny box and gave it to the nurse to take it to the tech guys immediately so they can freeze and preserve my progress before tending to my wounds, two medium sized holes the device has left on my skin. He said I will probably experience dizziness and nausea in the following month because of the lack of chemicals my body has gotten used to by now from the tracking serum they inject us with monthly. He also injected me with several doses and shots I usually receive during my monthly checkups, and since we have no idea for how long I'll be up there or if I'll be able to sneak back in, he decided to slightly increase my dosage which made me feel fuzzy and they had to call Damon to come pick me up.

When he walked in his face was blank, unreadable - to a casual observer, that is. It was obvious to me that he was annoyed with having to come pick me up. Damon was pretty much annoyed with everything concerning me, so I was used to it by now. It was to be expected, actually.

However, that didn't stop me from allowing him to carry me to his car, then to my bed, all the while I was pretending to be asleep in order to avoid having a conversation with him.

* * *

I'm afraid someone will see my wounds and inquire about them, or that the infection will appear due to improper healing, so I apply the oil the doctor issued me five times a day which is two times more than recommended.

"Should I really bring a backpack with me?" I ask while shoving the stuff I'm allowed to bring with me in a greyish backpack. "I mean, won't having my own possessions make me seem suspicious?"

Damon frowns, the edges of his bushy black brows meeting at the bridge of his nose. "What do you mean?"

"Well, if these people escaped in order to avoid being processed, do you think they had time to stop and pack?"

I remember when the new system was announced. The soldiers came into our homes and within an hour lined us up down our streets in order for self-imposed authorities to register, process and mark us. Back then we didn't have devices, those came in later, but we did have colourful stickers glued to our skin, one for each status prescribed to us. I had four glued to my arm - grey for being poor, green for being a teenager, pink for being a female and black for being an orphan.

I have no idea where Damon was at the time. Maybe he was standing near me, or maybe he was in one of those big, secure mansions - I have no way of knowing because he never told me anything about his life in the world before.

Everything happened so fast, and if anyone decided to run, that's all they had time for. No packing, no goodbyes, no pondering on the consequences of their actions.

"Don't be silly, Elena," he chuckles like I'm a child who's asking all the questions with such obvious answers. "People need supplies to survive. There is no way they have managed to survive all these years with no possessions of their own."

If there is a them. Maybe my theory is completely false and he really is working alone - completely and utterly alone.

Anyway, there's probably no way they have managed to survive with no supplies, but probably none of them had their supplies packed in a neat, new backpack either. I will stroll among them looking like I'm going hiking, not like I'm ready to join the forces of rebellion.

"Plus, there's some stuff in here you desperately need," he gives me a meaningful look.

Ah, yes, their new and improved system of communication - a pen and a paper. I'm supposed to write everything down, wrap the paper in a plastic bag and every five days bring it to the territory near the rural parts of Urbs, a territory which they will mark later. I know no device can survive such a long time without being charged, however, I don't have a map or a way of tracking my steps, so how am I supposed to know how and where to come back to?

Plus, the Rebellion is organized and effective, even if it's composed of one outsider - if I find them and join them, will they really allow me to randomly wander off by myself?

I know better than to argue with him, though, so I press my lips into a thin line in order to keep myself from saying anything and leave him be.

I place the pen and the notebook, alongside some other papers I will need into the hidden compartment inside the backpack where, I hope, no one but me will be able to find them.

"Hey, Elena..." he says my name wistfully.

"Mhm?"

"There's something I wanted to talk to you about..." he starts, picking the words carefully.

His unusual behaviour sparks my interest, so I stop packing and turn around to face him.

"While you're on the mission, do everything that needs to be done to ensure success. Nothing is off limits."

His eyes darken, and so does his expression. The skin around his eyes is full of wrinkles and dark veins which only make him look... meaner.

"Excuse me?"

"If you need to do something, even if you feel like you are betraying me by doing it, it's okay. I am giving you permission."

 _He's giving me permission?_

I know he thinks I'm stupid and gullible and weak simply because I go along with everything he says and does. When, in fact, the only thing I am is afraid. I'm afraid of losing this comfortable and secure life, everything I have worked so hard to achieve.

"Damon, are you breaking up with me?" I ask, conveying less emotion than a loving, dutiful girlfriend should be while in the process of uttering such a sentence.

"What? No! All I'm saying is, this is our future we are talking about. The mission comes first, right?"

Why do I feel like this is a test?

Any why do I feel like the answer I want to give him is the wrong one?

So I nod and agree with him. "The mission comes first."

* * *

In the early hours of the morning, they took me to the exit - not the main one, one I'm accustomed to using, but the hidden exit in the back I didn't even know exists. The fewer people see us, the better - from now on anyone could be a traitor.

As we walk through a smelly, wet corridor they run down the plan for me once more. It isn't much of a plan since they rely heavily on me to do all the work, provide them with all the information and, when I do, they will leave me with further instructions at the same marked territory.

At the end of the corridor, there are heavy metal doors and two heavily armed guards posted in front of them. I think about how weird it is for the main entrance to have only a security guard posted on them while the back one apparently only few people know about has two trained professionals with weapons guarding them. Damon's tight grip around my arm cuts off my thoughts, as well as my bloodstream, and he swings my entire body towards him with one sudden pull of his hand.

My body crashes into his and over his shoulder I notice the other Commanders standing several feet away from us. When did the stop walking with us?

I look up at him, afraid of his next move, and I allow myself to experience fear so freely knowing very well there's nothing on or in my body to track my feelings anymore or punish me for going through the motions. I have allowed myself to experience anger in the same manner after he had told me I can't say goodbye to Caroline, but that I can write her a letter which he can then pass on to her after I'm gone.

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me into a hug. I can feel the heaviness of his fingers on my spine, as well as the heaviness of his words on my entire body when he says - "I will miss you."

I remember the time when he would say those words and actually mean them. There were times when things were good between us, when we were happy and in love and when I looked forward to spending my future with him.

My arms creep around his torso and I close my eyes as I place my face into the crook of his neck. "I will miss you too."

With no device on my hand, I allow my mind to play with various questions such as _does he really care for me, or am I comfortable and convenient?_

After several seconds we release one another and, after he nods to the guards to open the doors, his face hardens. "Good luck," he says before I turn my back to him.

As soon as I cross to the other side, they close the doors, and I feel like they're shutting the doors on my old life.

I look around frantically and all I can see is, well, darkness. I crouch down in order to feel the grass beneath my feet - it is greener and softer than the one we have inside the city. It even has a scent, I realize once I inhale deeply.

Could it be real?

No, that's impossible, there's no way the planet has managed to heal itself so progressively in such a short period of time. If it did, they would have told us, they would have made an expansion strategy already instead of forcing us to live within the city limits.

There's a blazed trail on my left, well-run, meaning a good number of people has walked across it, which means the back doors are used often despite my lack of awareness when it comes to their existence.

So I decide to take the path as well.

The air is chilly and fresh, quite different from the warm and stuffy air we have inside the city walls. I'm dressed very easily for this kind of weather, weather I'm not accustomed to. I should have tied a jacket or at least a sweater around my waist for good measure - now I'm both late and sorry.

But, despite the cold, my new surroundings are quite enjoyable. I have never experienced life quite like this before - one where I am healthy, fed, clothed and free. Well, kind of, I realize when I try to smile but my facial lines refuse to cooperate. They stiffly remain in the same position, despite my best efforts to move them up.

Old habits die hard.

After four hours or so of walking, the dawn comes and, once the darkness clears, my surrounding become a bit more clear. Not familiar, but clear. There are miles and miles of grass, of small hills and bumps in the ground, but nothing else in view. No houses, no people, no nothing.

Am I going in the wrong direction? After so many hours of walking, I should have come across at least one village.

I decide to make a stop, not because I'm tired, but to clear my head. I make my way down to the ground in order to sit on the grass and for the next couple of minutes I watch the hill giving birth to the sun.

The last time I was on my own like this, the sun was a dangerous thing to be exposed to. An hour under the sun could be deadly, which is why all the animals have become extinct. Well, that, and the lack of food resources since the intensity of the sun and the lack of water has destroyed every eatable thing mother nature has provided us with. Before Urbs became what it is now, we have lived in the bunkers underground while our scientists worked on making this place livable again. And they have succeeded - things are only going to become better from now on.

I fall on the ground with my arms wide open, soft grass tickling the skin on my back - I close my eyes and remain in that position until the sun beams reach me and bathe my skin in a creamy shade of yellow.

It took me another two hours to reach one of the villages and, at that point, when I turned around I couldn't see any sign of Urbs anymore.

The villagers were outside, tending to their crops and doing their daily chores. Finally, someone I can ask for direction and maybe even some food and water. But as soon as they saw me approaching, they started huddling in their homes one by one. The women took their toddlers in their arms and hurried inside while others called upon their husbands who were working in the fields - by the time I reached the first house in line, the place was completely deserted. They locked their doors and pulled the blinds down, shutting themselves in their tiny brick houses.

I have knocked on several doors, but no one would answer.

After some time I saw two dark figures walking my way, so I started walking towards them, hoping they are leftover residents who have no idea what's going on in their home.

As soon as I approach them, I realize they're not from here. They look nothing like villagers, more like some kind of soldiers.

"Hey," one of them says carefully, as if he's afraid I'm going to run away from them. "It's okay, we are here to help."

They don't look like soldiers from Urbs. They don't look like they work for the government at all, dressed in all black, weapons similar to old bats strapped to their backs.

"We are here to take you to safety," the other one adds.

Rebels. Well, I guess there is a them after all.

They are probably rebels. I didn't think I would find them so soon, or so easily.

Well, I guess I didn't, they found me. How did they know I was here? How do they even dare to come so close to the village?

"She's afraid," one with dark, bushy hair says.

"Probably in shock," the other one replies, chewing on something. "Will you come with us?"

Will it be this easy to infiltrate them? It can't be!

I nod at them as a sign of confirmation.

"Okay then, follow us," the soldier gestures for me to follow them.

They study me carefully before they decide I don't look like I pose a threat, turn their backs to me and start walking in the same direction they came from. I follow them. And, as I walk behind them, I study them as well. They are both tall and muscular, dressed in old, worn black clothes. Their weapons look man-made, however, they also look like they can do some serious damage.

And they don't consider me a threat - why? They saw me and immediately wanted to help me. No, it's like they came with the intent to help me, like they knew they would find me here.

A person would think the forces of rebellion who have managed to rattle our authorities are a bit more careful when it comes to accepting strangers. Maybe they are confused by my presence; I mean, how many strangers can they even run into around here?

I don't know how much time it takes us to reach our destination, I kinda lose a track of time by entertaining myself with my own thoughts, when the one with the dark hair says - "Home, sweet home."

I look ahead of us, but the only thing I can see is the colourful field of... something. Some small structures, swaying in the wind and protruding from the ground. I prop myself on my toes to see better - tents, I am looking at linen tents.

And there are hundreds upon hundreds of them. Some are smaller, some are bigger, some are black, some are in various other, more playful colours. What do they need so many tents for?

When we come closer to the campsite, I realize what they need them for - people.

There are so many people there, standing in line, sizing us up as we approach them. Old and young, male and female, even children. I can't see their faces clearly, but from this distance, they seem curious and tired, suspicious and sad.

Someone is running towards us. Several men, to be exact, all tall and burly and dressed in ragged, dark clothes. One of them seems familiar and I know none of these people should seem familiar to me so, once again, I experience fear in its purest form.

Why does my brain allow goosebumps to appear on my skin, but not a smile on my lips? Why do I have no problems with letting myself experience fear, but I have with experiencing happiness?

The boy... the man in the front, the one with sandy hair and pleasant-looking face, I... I know him.

 _It's sub number zero._

The soldier on my left says something. His name. _Stefan._

Fuck, that is a pretty nice name.

He responds. I have wasted a lot of precious time on trying to imagine the sound of his voice and I never even came close. It's so soft and warm and calming, like a song my mother would sing to me to take my mind off my belly growling back when we didn't have anything to eat for days.

I look up at him. God, I feel so tired, my mind is slowly shutting down. My eyes start fluttering.

One second the sun is shining into my eyes, and the other everything turns pitch black.

I fall on the ground.

* * *

When I wake up, I instantly know I am laying on something wooden and hard. Maybe because it's my job to know, maybe because my back is killing me.

And so is my head. I place my open palm across my forehead and press my hand hard on my skull like I'm trying to push the pain back inside.

The doctor said I will experience dizziness and nausea in the upcoming month, but this feels like neither - I feel like my bones are cracking open and peeling my skin off as they do.

"You fainted," I hear a voice coming from my left, and I recognize it immediately.

I groan, trying to open my eyes. "Thank you, Captain Obvious."

"Snappy," he says, clearly amused by my behaviour. "I wonder, is it because you fell and cracked your head on the cold, hard ground or does it come with your personality?"

I lower my palm over my eyes so, when I open them, I meet the darkness instead of the shiny, piercing sun.

"Why don't you come over here and find out?"

"Charming," he snorts.

If we were in Urbs, my device would chime several times by now. Showing rudeness to a complete stranger is a big no-no, even if that stranger is evil.

I remove my hand from my face and turn my head to the left, the side his voice came from, only to see him sitting on a big log, already staring at me. We are inside of some wooden shed with no windows, only a funny looking door which is, currently, cracked open.

"Creepy much?" I frown at him.

He cocks an eyebrow in a way that shouldn't be familiar to me. So why is it?

"Rude much?"

Waking up next to him should feel weird, yet it feels completely normal. I guess I'm kinda used to falling asleep and waking up next to the picture of his face, a picture I have in my backpack.

My backpack!

"Where's my stuff?" I prop myself on my elbows, which is when I realize I'm lying on a table.

If you can call a badly polished plank of wood impaled on four metal rods a table.

"You mean your backpack?" I know it's a rhetorical question, however, I really want to snap back at him again. I guess, after years of working on his case, these are the emotions he invokes in me.

Which is bad, since I shouldn't feel anything for him, or at all. Why is the inside of my head so different than it was while I was in Urbs? I remind myself of the person I was when I was 16, back when it was okay to talk back to other people.

He stands up from a chair and I finally get a good look at him - he's tall, way taller than me, and he's all muscles. I guess all baboons in the Rebellion are.

"What's up with that?" he asks as he picks up my backpack from the floor.

Our eyes meet; the pictures don't do him justice. Guys like him don't grow back in the city.

He's tall and big, made for a soldier - his face, however, is kind. His look is soft and his voice easy, like the sound of waves hitting the shore.

"It's a backpack. You can pack stuff in them and carry it around on your back. If you want, I can show you," I smirk at him, the tone of my voice conveying sarcasm.

"Funny," he squeezes his eyes. "Since when do they allow you to pack your stuff? Usually, they don't even allow you to change your clothes."

Ha! I wish Damon was here so I can rub it in his face!

Wait... what is he talking about?

"A pretty thing like you," he continues, complimenting me. Kind of. "You were probably someone important... until they decided they can live without you."

Who are they? Is he stoned?

"You think I'm pretty?" I say as innocently as I can, batting my eyelashes at him.

His face becomes serious, and his cheeks turn red. "I... umm..." he scratches the back of his neck, all colour draining from his face.

"I was kidding," I feel the urge to explain myself.

I try to move my body from the surface I'm lying on, and I almost topple over due to my uncooperative limbs. I cling to the edge of the unsteady table in order to stop myself from falling down.

He hurries towards me and catches my body mid-air, his fingers wrapping around my skin, falling deep into my flesh. Being next to him feels strangely familiar - weird, but familiar.

"You shouldn't move, you're probably not accustomed to being in the sun for so long."

Is he actually worried about my well-being?

No, sub number zero wasn't supposed to be nice and helpful, he was supposed to be the enemy. And enemies are cruel and vicious.

But then again, kindness is lethal.

I lean against the table, and he pulls his hands away from my body. But, before I'm able to stop him, he grabs my hand and pulls my sleep down, all the way to my elbow.

"Hey, jungle boy," I pull my hand away from him. "I know you've been in the wilderness for too long, however, where I come from men ask women for permission before laying their hands on them."

"I'm sorry," he says like he's actually sorry, the look in his eyes matching the sound of his voice. "While I carried you, I didn't see your marks - from the device," he clarifies. "Now I can see that they are very faint."

How does he know that? Sure, he has probably seen the devices during his visits to Urbs, but how does he know about the marks they leave? Where did he have a chance to see someone without the device?

I wrap the fingers of my other hand around my wrist. "They took my device off a week ago, my wounds have healed by now."

"A week ago? How come?" he asks curiously.

I have to learn how to play this game of his so I can eventually beat him in it. He's obviously coaxing me for information, the information he desperately needs in order to carry out his plan, whatever it is.

He already knows way more than I initially believed, which makes him more dangerous than I've perceived him.

"They couldn't decide what to do with me."

"So you were someone important."

I don't answer, simply because I can't think of a good enough lie to say. I should have prepared better.

"Okay, you don't trust me yet, I can understand that - you have been living among them for years. You will, however, when you discover the truth."

His version of the truth, distorted one.

"Can I at least know your name?"

Should I tell him my name, my real name? Names carry meaning.

He needs my trust, but I need his more.

"Elena," I whisper.

"Elena," he repeats my name, softly. I don't like the way it makes me feel, all tingly. "Nice to meet you, I'm Stefan."

I smile at him.

"Okay, I think it's time to settle you in," he claps, moves away from me and takes my backpack in his hands. Seeing him with my stuff makes me feel extremely uneasy.

I push myself away from the table. "Jeez, will I really get my very own tent?" I roll my eyes.

"You know, you're so charming, I really have no idea why they wanted to exile you."

He opens the funny looking doors and the sun pours in.

Exile me?

"However," he grins. "If you have a problem with sleeping alone, I am always open to sharing my tent with you."

I pass by him in and hurry and step outside only so he doesn't see me blush. "As if!" I yell at him.

He catches up with me and I cross my arms over my torso defensively.

I look around. There's really a bunch of people here. How did all of them manage to escape? The soldiers were in my house minutes after the new system was announced over the speakers, I barely had enough time to gather my thoughts, let alone decide I'm going to run away.

"Where did all these people come from?" I ask him.

"Uh, that conversation is scheduled for tomorrow."


	6. Chapter 6

_**\- STEFAN'S POV -**_

I know her - she's been occupying my mind for days to come after our encounter in Urbs. I would recognize those baby doe eyes and strawberry shaped lips anywhere; it's pretty safe to say I've never seen someone quite like her, not in my father's old, dusty magazines and especially not in real life, in a world where everything is broken and distorted and upside-down.

And now, I realize, she's also the most annoying creature I have ever had a pleasure of meeting.

"Where are you taking me?" she whines, struggling to catch up with me. "I'm all sweaty and gross."

I roll my eyes because she's nowhere near gross. Sweaty maybe, since anyone who spends more than ten minutes under the sun midday starts sweating like a pig, however, gross is a bit far-fetched. She had crawled out of her tent this morning, stood up and stretched and I have seen men looking at her with desire in their eyes and women with an unhealthy amount of envy.

"Somewhere we can talk in private," I say.

"We've been walking for hours," she appears next to me. I can feel the warmth of her skin on mine - she's radiating.

I look at her, "We've been walking for fifteen minutes. Literally." There are tiny beads of sweat on her forehead. I guess walking for an extended period of time in a climate like this is hard for her; the sooner she gets used to it, the sooner she will stop fainting while doing manual labour.

The climate in the city is different than the climate here - the air over there is stuffy and warm, and here it's steamy and damp.

"Here we are."

I hurry up and she falls into my footsteps with a dazed look in her eyes. "Where's here?" she blinks.

I raise my hand and point in the direction of a pretty large bump protruding from the ground.

"Oh, goody, it's a rock," she says, sarcasm dripping from her lips.

"A cave," I amend her assumption.

She snorts, "Even better!"

I shake my head, trying to hide my smile. She's the enemy, and I seem to keep forgetting that every time she opens her pretty little mouth. "Once we're inside, you're going to thank me," I say.

When we near the entrance, I notice a fresh patch of new, young grass growing around the cave. With each passing day, the planet keeps healing itself more and more. Do they know about it, or are they too busy hiding behind their thick, iron walls to notice the world outside is changing for better?

I move aside for her to step inside and she gives me a funny look before accepting my non-verbal invitation.

"Ooooh," she says once we find ourselves inside, folding into herself.

"Cool, isn't it?" I say, kinda proud of myself - I have managed to surprise her sufficiently to earn an honest reaction from her.

"Quite literally," she looks around herself and the darkness encompassing us, coming from the cave's depths.

I lower myself to the ground and take a bottle full of water out of my backpack. I unplug it and pull hard, making my insides as chilly as I am on the outside. "Me and Matt, one of the guys, have stumbled upon it accidentally. Come on down."

To my surprise, she listens and lowers herself to the ground opposite of me. I hand her the water bottle and she gladly accepts it - her insides are probably burning.

"Why is it so cold?" she gives the bottle back to me and I place it back in my backpack.

I shrug. "No idea, but it's neat and comes in handy."

She seems pleased by my answer like I have given her some groundbreaking scientific explanation.

"Anyway, we should begin," I say anxiously. I don't know why since I had this conversation many times with various people who had reactions ranging from crying inconsolably to laughing like a lunatic.

"Ah, yes, we're here so you can introduce me to some mind-boggling truths," she presses her lips together to prevent herself from giggling.

"Yup," I reply, refusing to give into her highly inappropriate behaviour.

"Okay, let me have it," she recollects herself.

I open my mouth to speak and my heart moves to my throat, yet I manage to squeeze out some words in my serious, grown-up voice - "Your government has been lying to you."

After I say this, she continues staring at me all the way until the skin around her eyes start narrowing, and the corners of her lips trembling. She produces a funny sound like she's trying to stop herself from laughing into my face. "Conspiracy theory? All you have is a conspiracy theory?" she seems amused by this.

I desperately want to know what's currently going on inside her mind.

I also want to know, if she's who I think she is, for how long will she be able to play this game of hers? They obviously didn't exile her. She's one of them and if she really did something wrong they would rather execute her than exile her with all of their secrets. Especially when they know we're out here; they can't be so stupid and think the majority of the people they threw out are dead, can they? If they have managed to build such a stable and sustainable place mid-crisis, they gotta have some sense of community.

"How many people do you think there are here?" I lean back against the hard, cold cave wall.

She pulls herself together, painting her face serious again. "I have no idea," she shrugs, trying to act casual. "Around 300?"

I release a puff of air which, when it comes out, sounds more like laughter than I have imagined it would. "More. Way more. And how do you think they ended up here?"

Judging by the look on her face I can see that she's clearly been thinking about this - however, when the time for her to reply comes, she only shrugs again.

She didn't do anything wrong, she did everything like she was supposed to. She wasn't exiled, she's here on a mission - this is her reward, for all her hard work. And if I haven't seen her before, if I didn't know who she really was, she could have succeeded in this charade.

Now, she doesn't have to play this silly little game of hers alone.

"Did you really fail to notice?" I ask.

She frowns, obviously annoyed by my judgmental tone of voice. "Notice what?"

I shake my head, "How come you didn't notice? You're clearly not blind, so you have to be too self-absorbed to notice."

I try to set her off by attacking her personally. If I annoy her well enough, maybe she reveals her true identity and she can be done with her mission before it truly begins.

Or maybe, if she has even a sliver of compassion and common sense, she can join us.

However, my words don't seem to bother her much, she remains sombre. She's good and I guess that's why she's here instead of someone else. She's been holding her emotions back longer than anyone else here and, thanks to her position, way harder.

"Everyone here was once you. They have lived in Urbs, they had family and friends and jobs. And then, one day, or maybe over the stretch of several days, they did something forbidden, something wrong. They were too sad or too happy, maybe even too angry or too depressed. And they were unable to control their emotions by the sheer power of their will. There's a man here who was too sad because his wife had passed away, and a woman who became depressed after she had her baby. They slowly started losing their points and, eventually, they ended up at the bottom of that nice little scoreboard you keep. Do you know what happened next?" I ask. I don't expect her to reply, but nevertheless, I stay silent long enough to give her a chance to say something. "Can't you guess?" I smirk, mocking her - if she really is as good as her bosses believe she is then she already knows the answer, she simply can't say anything out of fear of saying too much. Having an answer that could earn her points but being unable to say anything must be a torture for her. "Your government came to their homes, snatched them away and threw them out of city walls, the same way they throw garbage out. No food, no water, no clothes, nothing to help them survive. You know why? Because they never intended for them to survive."

She folds her arms over her chest defensively, as if I'm accusing her directly of something. "That's a nice theory, however, it makes no sense. Why would they throw so many people out when we have such a low birthrate?"

Ah, a very good question. A good question indeed.

"I guess the success of their project is more important to them than your survival."

She looks confused by my statement, but she knows she's unable to inquire more. Because the more I tell her, the more she tells me and that's something she can't allow herself to do.

She's good, but so am I. While she was pretending to be a robot, I was doing my best to remain human.

"How are you feeling?" I study her face, trying to catch any sign of emotion on it, but there's nothing there.

She rolls her eyes, "What are you, my shrink?" I guess she was conditioned to experience disdain upon hearing that question.

"I mean, are you feeling any different since you left Urbs? Here?" I press the tip of my finger against my skull. "Can you see a difference in the way you think, talk, behave?"

She presses her lips together - no one whom I had this conversation with was in a hurry to admit that, and I guess it's especially hard for her to comprehend everything that's happening and that's going to happen.

"You don't have to answer, I already know the truth. Wanna know why this is happening to you?"

"Enlighten me," she growls through her teeth.

"Every month, your doctor injects you with a tracking serum," she does her best to hide the surprise from her face, but she fails miserably. She's probably wondering how I know all this. "But, surprise, surprise, he doesn't only inject you with a tracking serum, but with a compliance serum as well. Humans have hell of a willpower, however, there's some emotion we can't hide or control by ourselves. See, emotions are a conscious experience characterized by intense mental activity and a high degree of pleasure or displeasure. They depend on your mood, personality, motivation... they also include various components like subjective experience, cognitive process, expressive behaviour and psychological changes. When you feel something, your brain produces chemicals and sends them floating around your body. Those chemicals induce reactions - when you're happy, you smile and when you're sad, you cry. And while your brain is capable of hiding your behaviour, something your brain can't do is erase or take back the chemicals it already produced, which means you're unable to stop yourself from going through the motions. Expressing them? Sure. It's hard but doable. Feeling them? No way. Unless you have some external help. So your lovely government, with some help of your lovely scientists came up with a formula for a serum made of chemicals that can override the chemicals your brain naturally produces. It makes you numb. In the world before, that kind of medication was used on people with depression and some other illnesses which made people suffering from them experience their emotions too intensely, so they had to be medicated in order to stop them from physically hurting themselves. Some people are more susceptible to this kind of medication than others. All the people who are here? The serum didn't work on them. They were uncontrollable, failed experiments, so they had to be removed from the project."

Her laughter interrupts my speech. "For how long have you been out here? For a long, long time I'm guessing since you had plenty of time to come up with this laughable yet elaborate ploy."

The corners of my lips move up which visibly surprises her. "You can laugh all you want, but honey, your body is full of drugs and once they start leaving your system you won't have a very nice time."

She swallows. "How do you know all of this?"

"I used to read a lot when I was a child."

Her furrowed brows indicate confusion. "Read?"

"In the world before, my father had a bunch of old books I was able to get my hands on."

"You - you read for pleasure? But that's forbidden!" she exclaims, truly shocked by my open confession of such a serious crime.

"Honey, you're in a free world now, and in a free world pleasure isn't forbidden, it's highly appreciated," I smirk at her, or better yet, at her shocked expression.

"Nonsense!"

"Haven't you experienced some pleasurable moments in the world before. Don't you miss them? Even in the recent years, you must have felt some kind of pleasure - while eating the food you love, or spending time with your partner."

Her face turns into a distorted mask of anger - "Food is here for our survival, not for our enjoyment. And the man I sleep with... well, I sleep with him for convenience, not for pleasure."

Oh, wow, she really doesn't have a filter.

I smile.

"What?" she spits out, "What are you smiling at?"

My smile deepens. "Can you feel that? That's called anger."

"Uh!" she stands up, "This conversation is over! Being in a confined space with you makes me nauseous and being cold is overrated! I would rather allow the sun to fry me than listen you talk for one more second" she stands up and darts out of the cave.

Her reaction makes me wonder how much of her government's secrets she actually knows. Maybe she's nothing else than a pawn to them.

I shake my head once again, trying to make the smile on my lips go away before I stand up as well and follow her, exchanging cool air with an extremely damp one.

* * *

I can barely catch up with her as she storms off towards the camp.

"He's nuts, totally nuts, a wacko," I can hear her mutter under her breath once I finally come near her.

"Hey," I need her to slow down, so I try calling after her. When that doesn't work, I grab her by her arm. "Would you stop!" I yell after her.

She turns around. The skin around her eyes is all red and puffy. "I already told you," she growls, pulling her limb away from my reach. "Don't touch me."

"Okay, okay," I say apologetically. She's really sensitive when it comes to her personal space. We're standing at the very entrance of the camp where everyone can see and hear us - I don't want to cause a scene. "Tell me, why is it so hard for you to believe my story? Those people, people you trusted, they threw you away."

She takes a deep breath. "I can't believe you because that would mean my entire life is one big lie. There - there has to be a better explanation! Maybe we were actually getting overpopulated and they had to take necessary precautions!"

I furrow my brows, sickened by that thought as much as I am by what I know is the truth. "And that makes it better? You are never going back there - you are never going to see your friends or family again! The life as you know it is over, done, finito!"

She gasps. "Stefan..." she says my name pleadingly, and it breaks my heart. No one has said my name like that in a very, very long time. If ever. Like she actually needs something from me, something she's not entitled to. A lot of people need stuff from me, but they're never pleading for them, they're demanding them. Like I owe them something.

"Yesterday, when I asked you about your marks, you said they are faint because they took your device off a week ago. It took them a week to decide how to handle you - why? What did you do?"

She takes her look off of me and directs it to the side. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, you will have to," I say mercilessly. "Because I can't and I won't allow you to live here if I think you're hiding something, something that could potentially endanger us all. And no one else around here will stand for it either."

She gives me a stone cold look. "Well, then, I guess you will have to make me leave which makes you no better than they are."

* * *

I was unable to fall asleep. I wasted a perfectly nice, cool evening on tossing and turning around my questionably comfortable tent, and all because of that insufferable woman.

Was I too harsh on her? Too mean? What if I'm wrong? What if she's not the person I think she is, but an unfortunate victim of circumstance? What if she really was exiled, suffering like the rest of us?

The way I spoke to her - the words I used and the tone in which I used them - reminded me all too much of my father, a shadow I've been trying to escape my entire adult life.

When I finally became sick and tired of simply laying on my back and staring at the sky through the colourful, thin fabric of my tent, I made my way outside and left for a run.

I'm not wrong, I can't be - I know very well who she is. Not only do I remember her as clear as day, I can also see it in the way she holds herself and behaves. No one who came here was open to accepting the truth in the very beginning, even if they were aware that they have been harmed by the people they have trusted, but after providing them with actual proof they couldn't escape from injustice and betrayal. Everyone is always in shock, but she's ferocious and combative, unwilling to welcome the truth not because harm was done to her, but because she's can't comprehend her government has been doing such awful things and kept them a secret.

Why should I feel sorry for her, and why should I treat her any differently than I would treat any other government employee? She's one of them and, in one way or another, she's responsible for everyone who was exiled because she allowed them to brainwash her in order to believe in their cause and work towards it. It doesn't matter if she knew or was completely unaware of their wrongdoings, her actions had helped them in their agenda. She should have known better.

But... there shouldn't be a but. She could destroy everything we have worked for, not only the plans for the rebellion, but she could potentially endanger lives of all these people. She's here either because they know we're here in numbers and they want to find a way to destroy us from within without alerting everyone inside the city walls, or they had no idea there's so many of us and she came only for me.

However, there is a but, because she seems... good. She doesn't trust them because she believes in what they're doing, but because she's afraid... of something, of someone. I'm sure of this because, if there's one thing I've learned in my entire life, it's how to read people.

After a half an hour of running, I come back to the camp and hop into the shower - if you can describe the construction we have made as a shower. I immerse myself in the water, letting it run down my body for a while before I hop out and put my clothes back on my half dry body.

"Hey! There you are!" I hear Lexi's voice as soon as I appear outside. "I've been looking for you."

She appears next to me before I'm even able to fully turn around in the direction her voice is coming from. "Well, actually, I've been looking for the new girl," she squints, causing the skin around her eyes to wrinkle.

"I don't think she would appreciate you calling her the new girl," I huff.

"Oh," she smiles mischievously, "I've heard about your little encounter."

My eyes pop out, "You did?"

"Mhm," she nods excitedly. "Everyone was talking about it - they're betting when you're going to bone."

"What!?" I raise my voice at her.

She takes a step forward, "Don't fail me, Stefan. I've invested some pretty valuable belongings because I believe you can seduce this girl."

I raise my hand in the air and plaster it across my face in order to hide my shocked and displeased look from her. When I remove it, I see her walking in our direction.

"Speak of the devil," I say, quite literally. "There she is. Elena!" I call her over.

When she hears me and notices me waving her over, she rolls her eyes and drags herself in our direction.

"Lexi, meet Elena," I introduce Lexi to the walking, talking migraine. "Elena, Lexi will show you around and assign you - "

"What?" she interrupts me with a smirk on her face. "You realized you can't handle me so you transferred your duties to your girlfriend?"

"Jealous?" I smirk in return.

"As if!" she retorts, offended.

"Girlfriend?" Lexi laughs. "He wishes! Now, I believe you've already been assigned a tent?"

Elena nods, surprised by Lexi's easy going attitude.

"I'm sorry we couldn't provide you with a milder colour, I know this one probably hurts your eyes. You will get accustomed to it with time, I promise."

She doesn't say anything in return.

"All of us contribute to the community somehow. We have five mixed groups consisting of several people who deal with various tasks, based on their previous and newly found skills. Is there something you're good at?" she asks with a motherly tone of voice even though she and Elena are approximately the same age.

Elena shifts her lips to the side, "I don't think my skills would be useful or appreciated around here. What are the teams?"

"Women are usually caretakers or caregivers," I say.

She folds her arms across her chest, "Cooks or babysitters? I don't think so, you baboon. If you ever make me cook for you, I'll poison you."

Lexi chokes on her own breath. "Well, uh, we also have scavengers - they're basically food collectors, but I don't think you're built to carry a heavy basket on your back for an entire day. Same goes for constructors."

She doesn't protest to any of this.

"You're not going to bite her head off for assuming you can't handle something, yet you will mine? How's that fair!?"

She cocks her eyebrow at my childish attitude. "She didn't tell me I belong in the kitchen."

"I never said such a thing!" I say defensively.

"You kinda did," Lexi takes her side.

I give her a shocked and betrayed look. "Unbelievable!"

"Anyway," she's done with paying attention to me, "What's the fifth group?"

Lexi furrows her brows. "Guards."

Her entire face lights up. "Now, that's something I could actually be good at," she says proudly with a wide smile on her face.

An alarm goes off inside my head. There's no way I can allow her to become a guard! With that kind of power, she could do real harm.

How can I refuse her without raising suspicion?

"Are you nuts? You can't be a guard!"

"Why, because she's a girl?" Lexi asks, hoping to cause some drama.

"No, because she's mentally unstable. There's no way I'm giving her guard duty."

"Then it's a good thing you don't have to," Elena gives me a victorious smile. "Lexi has."

"Listen, princess," I growl, making one step forward, a step that nearly closes the distance between us. "This isn't Urbs. We don't have guns and modern technology, we have sticks and bats."

"Well, good thing I'm not an idiot and I know how to pick up a stick and smite someone with it," she responds calmly, looking me in the eye. "Sign me up for guard duty. Now excuse me, I have to go somewhere else because I'm sick and tired of breathing the same air as you."

She turns around on her heel, and leaves.

"We all breathe the same air, Elena!" I yell after her.

She flips me off.

"Daaaamn," Lexi whistles. "You guys are so going to bone, and it's so going to make me dirty rich."


	7. Chapter 7

_**\- ELENA'S POV -**_

I am laying on my back on the uneven, bumpy ground inside my new cosy living quarters, staring at the fireball in the sky, better known under the name of sun among the common people. My eyes are fuzzy and I am sweaty all around - I didn't even know it's humanly possible to discharge such colossal amounts of bodily fluids at once! My skin is unusually sensitive, it's like I can feel the air moving around me and creating a warm, smooth vortex, also known as the wind. With my head on the ground, I can hear something moving and coursing underneath me - it's the sound of new life being born. I feel super in sync with my surroundings, however, I desperately wish the connection would disappear because it's causing a pressure inside my head I simply can't take anymore. My entire body is shaking and buzzing and I feel like I am going to shatter.

I close my eyes, squeeze the white sheet underneath me with all of my ten fingers and take a deep, calming breath. My doctor back home had warned me this would happen once my body notices the lack of chemicals from the tracking serum in itself. He said I would experience some nausea and dizziness - I am definitely experiencing both, and then some.

Stefan knew this would happen as well, he had confessed as much the day he took me to the cave and said I won't have a very nice time once the drugs begin to leave my system. I remember how I didn't approve of his choice of words since, in my book, drugs imply something atrocious, while the tracking serum was necessary. Now, I am wondering how can an experience as dreadful as this one be described as necessary when it feels more like a punishment I don't deserve, for a crime I didn't commit. His other words, however, were precise - I am really not having an exceptional time here and, at this point, I really don't care how he knew this would happen. Still, I am glad he has enough common sense to leave me alone during a time like this.

I open my eyes and look at the red fabric above me - it's weird to be surrounded by colours again, especially after living in a city made of black and white and several shades of grey for a couple of years. I used to enjoy colours in the world before and the remnants of the person I was finds some pleasure in seeing them again and, at the same time, the other parts of me fail to feel guilty or apologetic for it. I justify such state of mind with the condition I am currently in.

I exhale a warm puff of air and close my eyes again, falling asleep in a matter of seconds.

* * *

When I wake up, the sun is gone and so is my headache - someone has placed a cold compress on my forehead in order to lower my temperature and cool my skin off. If I were back in Urbs, I would probably pop a pill, crawl in my warm bed, sleep the illness off and wake up feeling brand new in a matter of hours. Here, curing oneself requires time and effort, like actually feeling ill isn't a bad enough experience in itself.

I remove the cotton towel from my forehead and prop myself on my elbows, finally detaching my body from the sweaty cover underneath me. My clothes are damp and smelly as well - I am in a desperate need of a shower.

I notice a water bottle on my left - I reach for it and down it promptly. My oesophagus hurts from the sudden intake of water.

I am feeling better, however, I don't remember the last time I've looked worse. It's a good thing there are no mirrors here.

The only way this situation could become worse is if my -

"Oh, crap!" I yell. Jinxed.

I remove myself from my stuffy tent and look around myself. The day is slowly ending, so people are walking around, having meaningless conversations or eating their dinner. I notice Lexi, so I wave her over. I also notice a confused, maybe even somewhat worried expression on her face.

"Why are you up?" she asks, blinking at me. Her long, blonde hair is tied in a firm ponytail and she's wearing an old olive tank top paired with shorts. She's very beautiful, kind of beautiful that makes other women shy and self-conscious in her presence, even here in the wilderness. Even when there's dried mud all over her skin, from neck down. Seeing her like this makes me wonder what's exactly her role here.

"Oh, I am feeling much better," I wave her worry away. "However, I am feeling gross and I probably look like it as well," I don't have to look at myself, my sense of smell serves me well enough to prove my suspicion.

She crinkles her nose. "Everyone around here looks gross," she doesn't try to console me, which only makes me feel more self-conscious, even if she's too polite to tell me openly I look like I've been robbing graves. However, I appreciate her candidness, because Caroline would never hide anything from me and her actions remind me of home.

"Also, I have a problem," I lower my voice. Lexi looks like a helpful person and, out of some reason, I feel like I can trust her, even if we had only one conversation since I arrived here.

She folds her arms across her chest, "I am listening."

"Well, I started my period and I have no utilities with me."

She looks uncomfortable with my confession which makes me wonder did I overstep my boundaries. In Urbs, it wasn't really acceptable to talk about any aspect of your personal life with strangers, or to talk to strangers at all. Random social interactions were limited and frowned upon, they were a sign of laziness and for people who liked wasting their time on unnecessary stuff.

Stefan made it seems like those rules don't apply here, but maybe I have a wrong impression.

"I am sorry if I was too candid or if I offended you in any way," I say defensively, suddenly afraid of the consequences. I try to process this new feeling since I was never afraid of the consequences, I always accepted them because they were deserved and necessary. A person shouldn't be afraid of the consequences of their action, not if a person wants to make amends or mend the situation. "I simply didn't know who else to turn to."

She gives me a pitiful look, "Elena, you're not in Urbs anymore, candid conversations are allowed here, there's no reason for you to feel ashamed - there are no limits to human freedom around here."

I bow my head down so she doesn't see my expression, a mix of confusion and anger.

"I was simply surprised you still have your period," she admits. "Only around 3% of women here still do. I don't have any utilities on me, but I do know someone who can help. Come."

She starts moving in the same direction she came from, so I follow her.

"How come such a small amount of women here has their period?" I ask once I catch up with her. There are more than 200 women here - even if half of them are in menopause, 2% is still a small number.

"Malnutrition, poor living conditions, inaccessibility to proper hygiene and regular doctor checkups, as well as proper medication. There are probably a bunch of other factors," she shrugs.

I stay silent because none of the words in my mind seem appropriate. If Lexi doesn't have any utilities, then she doesn't have her period, which means she's unable to have children.

I have never missed my period, so I can't relate to the problems women here face, not even one of them. I don't know if I want to have children, but I would like to keep my options open.

"Did the fertility rate rise in Urbs?" she asks after a period of silence. "I left pretty early on and back then the situation wasn't really promising."

I pull my lips into a thin line before speaking up. "Yeah, it's been getting better. They have developed a new fertility treatment which seems to be working."

"That's good, I guess," she says, nodding. Her look is stone hard, like she's trying to stop herself from crying. "Some women here had a baby, which was hard on them. We don't have resources for a healthy pregnancy or delivery and raising a child in these conditions is close to impossible."

She explains, emotionlessly, simply stating facts. She's very detached from the issue or she tries to make it seem like she is.

"Lexi, what did you mean when you said you left Urbs?" I change the topic since the current one made my skin crawl.

She stops in place and turns to me, giving me a hard and decisive look. "Look, Elena, there's a reason Stefan is the one dealing with the newcomers. I understand that the longer you live among those people, the harder it is for you to accept the truth about them, but I am not the woman of much patience when it comes to the topic. I don't mean to be rude, however, could you please leave those questions for Stefan?"

I know she doesn't really put much hope into receiving an answer, yet I nod anyway, moving my head up and down quickly, partially because I am afraid of her, partially because I don't want to anger the one person who was nice to me since I arrived.

We continue our walk among the tents while avoiding the stuff people have left scattered around them.

"I am not sure Stefan really cares," I say.

She snorts, making it obvious that my statement clearly amuses her. "You would be surprised how much Stefan cares. I am still unsure why exactly since you two don't seem too fond of one another. But then again, maybe your bickering turns him on."

My cheeks turn red and by the sound of her laughter, she notices. "I guess he's not the only one," she says, still laughing.

"Where is he, anyway? I haven't seen him around."

"He's away," she says, however, she never clarifies that statement, despite my obviously curious expression. "And simply because you haven't seen him, doesn't mean he hasn't seen you. Water, food, clean sheets, cold compress... everything you found in your tent while you were feeling ill, it was all him. I didn't even know he can be so... attentive."

I wish she would stop humanizing him because the more she talks about him, the nicer he seems. And sub number zero wasn't supposed to be nice, but a heartless and vindictive animal.

Before I am able to say anything in return, she orders me to stay here as she runs up to a yellow tent few steps over.

She calls someone's name, a name I am unable to hear, and a young woman crawls out of her tent. Lexi tells her something and the woman looks my way. She smiles at me, so I smile back, trying to look as pleasant as possible. She goes back inside and after several seconds comes back and puts a pink box in Lexi's hands.

After she receives it, Lexi thanks her and runs back to me. "Here you go," she puts an unopened box of pads in my hands. "I have some other business to attend to, so I have to leave you now. If you need me, you can find me in the kitchen."

"Thank you."

"Also, please shower, you smell like death," she winks at me and I watch her, with a smile on my face, as she moves further away from me.

Well, I guess I should grab some clean clothes and go stand in line for a shower.

On my way, I notice another young woman staring directly at me and the box of pads in my hands. She has heavy brown curls and there's an indescribable amount of sadness in her eyes, one unknown to me.

She seems familiar, however, I have no idea where I could have seen her before.

Her look makes me feel uncomfortable, so I hurry away.

* * *

I withdraw a piece of paper and a pen from the concealed area in my backpack successfully, without making too much noise, yet when I find a place in my tent half lit by the moon which makes it possible for me to actually write, I find myself unable to come up with a sensible message.

Now that my mind is clean and free of fuzzy speculations, I realize Stefan has taken more space in my head than I have initially realized. I may think he's a paranoid, delusional freak, however, while rambling about evil and betrayal he did have several good points.

Ever since the new order has been established, we have been growing stronger and more successful. Our mortality is lower while our natality is on the rise, we have reserves of food and water, the air is more pleasant, our overall health has improved, the science has progressed and our technology has never been better - how come people who have had so much success weren't curious to see, after all those years, what's going on beyond the city borders?

Why would all these people rather choose to work hard and risk their survival in such poor conditions when there's a city on a rise nearby? If they reached out, did our leaders send them away?

Or were they really the ones who banished them?

I shove my face into my open palms, breathing hard.

No, no, no... no! When you start placing your doubts in the hand that feeds you, you move one step closer towards starvation. And feeling starved is something I already experienced which means I am smart enough to know it's something I wouldn't like to experience again.

The system is good, the system works, the system saved us all, the system rewards productive members of society and eradicates the lazy ones. If these people were banished, it's because they were a threat to the system and all detected threats should be removed before they endanger our progress.

I keep screaming inside my head, arguing with myself - all these thoughts leave a metal aftertaste in my mouth.

We were dying off, slowly, one by one. The poor people were the first ones to go and no matter how safe rich people thought they were, they wouldn't be safe forever. The world before was crashing down before our eyes and the human race was about to become extinct - they invented the system, they invested in this new world and they saved us all. They gave us our future and the shells of these lives we live in, the least we can do is remain loyal to them.

My body misses the chemicals from the serum - they made my mind foggy and disabled me from thinking of what's forbidden. Now, my mind is open and clear and all these thoughts keep pouring in, coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. I am very much aware of some things I used to be blind to, things I can't admit to myself because I'm a bloody coward.

Because I'm selfish and afraid. Because this place reminds me of the world before and I don't want to be here anymore. I want to run back into my blissful ignorance before getting stuck here.

I lift my head and take the pen back into my hands; I write everything down - their approximate location, numbers, resources and their side of the story. I fill the entire paper, front and back, with words seeping with hate and anger and displeasure.

I pull my backpack closer and roam around its depths until I find a small, deep red flag on a thick pole. I fold the paper several times, placing the flag between the folds, before storing it into the side pocket of my jacket. Then, I leave my tent, as quietly as possible.

It's approximately around 10 o'clock in the evening, which is quite early for the entire camp to be this silent - the only things audible are the whispers coming from several illuminated tents and that sound the night produced only in the open air, but never in the crowded city.

I look up, admiring the sky covered by hundreds upon hundreds of tiny stars which can't be seen from inside the city either. I inhale fresh, chilly air and step forward, walking on my toes among the tents filled with exhausted, sleeping bodies.

It takes me several minutes of tiptoeing to reach the clearing - I look behind my shoulder at the still calm campsite. If the tents were any darker, you wouldn't be able to notice them if you didn't know they're there.

My plan is to walk in the same direction I came from until I find an appropriate place to hide the message I wrote everything down, detailing everything I have seen, heard and discovered during my time here. There are some things I don't tell them, like how nice and pleasant Lexi is, how sub number zero has a name and looks more like a child than an enemy of the system, how I felt while the chemicals were leaving my system and how I remember, feel and think some things I absolutely shouldn't even contemplate.

As I walk, I wonder who's going to find my letter and, more importantly, who's going to read it? I imagine all the Commanders shuffled around the desk, decrypting my handwriting and laughing about Stefan's crazy theory. I remember Damon and I realize that, during all this time, I didn't miss him at all. Hell, I didn't even think about him.

Even though I am completely occupied with my thoughts, a sharp male voice grasps my attention. "Hey!" someone calls after me, their call followed by a hissing sound.

I turn around and see a man dressed in all black, some kind of weapon strapped to his back, walking towards me. "Where do you think you're going?" he clicks his tongue.

A guard.

"For a walk," I say the first thing that pops into my mind which, surprisingly, isn't that far from the truth.

He opens his mouth and shows me his yellow, clenched teeth. "Does this place look like a holiday resort to you, princess?" he barks at me. "Go back to your tent," he orders me. I don't like taking orders, especially not from little, bitter men who think I'm afraid of them simply because they have a barbed weapon holstered on their back.

I mean, the barbed stick does look terrifying, but still.

"I can't sleep," I say, trying to remain calm.

He rolls his eyes; I am obviously getting on his nerves. "Would you like a lullaby?"

I clench my fingers into a hard, round fists, painting my knuckles white.

"I don't care. We have a curfew. If everyone else can keep up with it, so can you," he says in an unkindly manner.

I wonder can I charm my way out of this situation? Flip my hair, smile, look at him under my lashes?

Nah, he doesn't seem like a flirty type. I have a feeling that kind of behaviour would only make him angrier.

While I'm busy with trying to think of a plan to distract the second most annoying person I have ever met, I hear the voice of a titleholder coming from behind me.

"Hey, Danny," he calls after the guard who, upon hearing Stefan's voice, freezes in place. "It's okay man, she's with me."

The guard's entire composure, including his facial expression, changes completely. I look over my shoulder only to see a silhouette of a human form running towards me, emerging from the dark. When he approaches me and the distance between us becomes less and less existent, I notice that he's half-naked. The only thing he's wearing is shorts and a tiny towel around his neck. His hair is completely damp and drops of sweat are rolling down his torso.

Holy cheese on a breadstick.

I pull my look away from him and turn my head in its original and natural position since I sense myself in a serious danger of drooling.

"I'm sorry," the guard utters and I can't tell if he's being fearful or respectful. Maybe one entices the other. "I didn't know."

"It's okay," he's now standing next to me, his arms propped on his hips. I wonder how many muscles of his are larger than my actual head? "We're going for a walk. However, next time, maybe you could be a little nicer to the lady, huh?" he reprimands him.

Danny is obviously at least ten years old than Stefan, so the picture of him scolding someone who should know better is kinda funny. What's funnier is the terrified look on Danny's face.

"Yes," he says, bobbing his head up and down. "I'm sorry," he looks at me, but it's obvious the only reason he's apologizing is because Stefan subtly told him it would be awfully nice of him to do so.

"Let's go," Stefan says to me and begins moving in a direction opposite of the campsite.

I don't know why, but I follow him. I struggle to catch up with him and once I do, we walk in complete silence for several minutes.

Until I decide to speak up. "You look like you've been shooting a porno."

He laughs, amused by my bold statement. "If I was shooting a porno, you would know because you would be there, directly under me."

I am so grateful it's pitch black outside because my cheeks are burning up. How come he always has something to say, no matter what or when I try to poke at him. Are our lives scripted? Does he have cheat codes for all of our future conversations?

I think he can tell he made me feel uncomfortable, so instead of apologizing, he decides to tell me the truth - "I was running."

I miss the gym in my complex - I could spend hours and hours on a treadmill, clearing my head of all the pesky and irritating thoughts that had a habit of invading my mind during the most unfortunate times. Running outside, from one point to the other, actually sounds more appealing than running on a machine, however, that's one luxury I didn't have in Urbs. Just like here, we also had a curfew, and during the time we were allowed to go outside the streets were so crowded that running was nearly impossible.

"How come you're allowed to leave the camp after the curfew?" I ask.

I am kinda jealous of his freedom since I can't remember the last time I had mine. Ever since I was born there have been so many rules and I have always had a curfew which, over the years, changed because my circumstances have changed as well. But it's always been there.

My entire life I've been doing something to please someone else - in the world before I would ration my food and water so Jeremy would have more of it, because he needed it more, which pleased my parents. When the new system was established, I followed the rules to please those placed on a pedestal because I knew they rewarded those who followed them. And now I'm doing it in order to keep this pretence up.

I did it for my family to survive, then I did it for me to survive which are all valid reasons for doing something. However, recently I've been wondering if there's maybe something more than mere survival.

"I don't know," he shrugs his shoulders. "Can you break the rules if you're the one who made them?" he asks, honestly baffled by this, like it didn't cross his mind before.

"Umm, yes," I say, pretty sure the established rules apply to everyone, even those who have established them.

"I don't have an answer for you then. I keep breaking the rules and they keep letting me do so."

After seeing him confused by the moral component, the idea of him making important decisions and setting boundaries seems kind of ridiculous.

"Aren't you supposed to lead by example?"

He frowns, his thick, bushy browns moving closer together, making his forehead look smaller. "Maybe in some other world since in this one no one wants to break the curfew because no one wants to leave since they don't have anywhere else to go."

He stuns me and I find myself at the loss of words.

From the corner of my eye, I see him take the towel off of his shoulders, his biceps clenching, and he starts drying his hair.

"So, you run often?" I ask in order to distract myself from looking at his body. Honestly, how did he manage to get so ripped in this wilderness?

"Daily," he mumbles while rubbing his head with a small, white towel. "You are more than free to join me," he offers.

It would be awfully nice to stretch my muscles and I don't see any other way to leave the camp after the curfew by myself.

I nod, taking my eyes off of him once he removes the towel from his head. "I will think about it and let you know," I say stoically, trying to hide my true feelings from him. I don't want to give him an impression that I want to spend time with him when all I really crave is a nice, good workout session.

He nods in return, but doesn't say anything.

Once the silence falls around us again, I realize we've been walking for quite some time. I wonder, if it was day, would I be able to see the campsite from here?

Also, why did he come with me? Is it because he doesn't trust me or because he was worried about me? Or maybe the mix of two?

I decide to speak up again, trying to find the right thing to say. I tell myself I feel uncomfortable with this stillness in order to hide the real reason behind my wish to start a conversation - I desperately want to hear the sound of his voice again.

"You know, we've been walking for quite some time now and you haven't even once tried to convince me that the government is evil," I smirk.

"I have decided I will stop trying to convince you of that," he says.

I dip my head to the side, "Giving up so soon?"

He smiles, faintly. "In time, you will see for yourself. Once you start talking to people and, more importantly, once new people come into the camp. Me trying to convince you of something you're not ready to believe into isn't doing anyone any favours," he explains. "I do have a question. Why did you really try to leave the camp before I came to your rescue?"

"Hmm, really?" I say teasingly. "Well, I really wanted to take a walk. I feel stiff and compressed and I thought a walk would do me good. I don't have a hidden agenda, Stefan," I say as honestly as humanly possible in order to hide my hidden agenda.

"Huh. And here I was, convinced you're a mastermind who wants to throw me off of the throne and take over the camp," he jokes, and I smile.

Now that the atmosphere is nice and cosy, I know what I have to do next.

"Back in the city, I used to work for the government," I say, trying not to look at him even though after I utter that sentence, I can feel him steer his look into my direction. If I do, I'm afraid he will see directly through me, since that seems to be a superpower of his. Or at least one of. "I had a nice life, including my high-end job and a nice condo. My best friend, however, had a completely different life - she wasn't doing very well and she had a hard time adjusting. Recently, her points started dropping massively and she was barely keeping her score above the line. One of my tasks was monitoring other people's scores and whenever someone's score fell below the line, I was notified. So when a notification concerning her came my way, I tried to add her points manually - it was a wrong thing to do and it wasn't my place to interfere. We have experts dealing with people who are unable to function properly. Her inability to live a normal life shouldn't have been my problem and I was in no position to try to fix her. She was my friend, however, one I have known since the world before and... well, I tried to save her. It took them less than a day to discover what I did. In Urbs, someone is always monitoring you and your work, no matter the position you're in. Since I was working in such a high position it took them a week to figure how to handle me. In the end, they have decided to banish me, however, since I was loyal to them for such a long time and since my infringement was big, yet it wasn't selfish, they allowed me to bring some stuff with me in order to make it easier for me to survive, hence my backpack."

I have a feeling I say all those lies in one breath.

"I'm still processing everything that has happened, which is why I don't feel ready to talk about it - because I don't know what to say. However, you said you won't be able to trust me if I don't tell you, so there you go."

It didn't take me long to construct this lie - maybe because it's something I would really consider doing for Caroline. If you're sure you would do something if you found yourself in a scenario you made up, is it really a lie?

"What happened to your friend?"

"I don't know," I say, my voice pained, which isn't hard to fake. Actually, I don't think I'm faking it at all since I really do miss Caroline and imagining her in this potentially life-threatening situation pains my heart. "I didn't see her while they kept me locked up while deciding what to do with me. Best case scenario, they have banished her as well, but I didn't see her here."

"What's her name."

"Miranda," I say my mother's name because, in this situation, it's the only other female name I can think of.

"We don't have anyone who goes by that name."

"Is it possible she had wandered off in another direction?"

It takes him some time to answer my question. "Yes," he squeezes out.

I don't say anything. I blame my overly emotional state on my period. Why else would I be sad about something I've made up?

"I'm sorry, Elena," he utters.

The hushed tone of his voice makes me turn to him only to catch him looking at me with tears in his eyes. "I'm so sorry this happened to you, as well as your friend."

I can't handle looking at him and his pained face, so I tear my look away from him and look straight ahead into the darkness. "I'll survive," I say stiffly.

"Yes, you will," he agrees, which puts my heart into a thumping mode.

"I have to pee," I say.

"Excuse me?" he says, confused by my sudden outburst.

I roll my eyes at his panicky expression. "I have to use the little ladies room," I say mockingly.

"We can head back."

"No, I have to go now," I look around, trying to make sense of our surroundings. "I think I can see a shrub there," I point in front of us, towards the cloudy outline. "It will only take a minute," I say as I start walking towards the shrub.

He follows me.

"Woah, jungle boy, I'm perfectly capable of peeing by myself. Stay," I tell him and he stops in place, still confused by our exchange.

I hurry towards the shrub and crouch down behind it - it's tiny and he can probably see the top of my head, bobbing in the air.

I take the folded paper out of my pocket and dig a small hole in the ground. Thankfully, the soil is soft and easy to dig into. I bury the note into the ground, place the soil back above the hole. I take the flag and press the button inside the coloured plastic, turning on the signal so they can easily trace its location. Then, I stick the flag into the ground, directly above the note.

I did it, I actually managed to pull it off.

I take a deep breath before standing up and walking back towards him.

"Okay, we can head back now," I say, passing him by, refusing to look him in the eye so he doesn't notice the overwhelming amount of... guilt, I guess, in my eyes.

Why do I feel guilty? What do I have to feel guilty for? I'm here on a mission and I'm only doing my job.

Our walk back seems much shorter since we're back to the campsite in a matter of minutes.

"Elena," he calls my name and I turn around. "Tomorrow, you start your job - when you wake up, come see me about your weapons. Congratulations, soldier."

Even though he's standing few feet away from me, I can see the smirk on his face.


	8. Chapter 8

_**\- STEFAN'S POV -**_

I hide in the dark, like a class A creep, until I make sure she's deep asleep and, after stopping by my tent, head in the same direction we came back from. Our attentive guard, our saviour and protector in case danger occurs this fine evening, doesn't even notice me when I slip by him.

People have become too accustomed to their roles in our camp and too comfortable with their lives here. They know the real danger hides inside the city walls, not outside them, so they have shredded their fear alongside the skin of their previous lives, the ones they had to leave behind, as well as their _could have been's_ , because their curves and edges weren't made for the new and imposed regime.

There's one thing I have learned in my life - one should never stop being afraid. When you overcome your fear, you become reckless.

I wonder, how would their fears come back - in waves or all at once - if they knew the enemy is among us? If they knew their bubble has finally stumbled upon a needle which could make it crack open?

I can see why they would send Elena. She's pleasant and kind to everyone excluding me, and the only real threat she presents is to my sanity. By the looks of it, she couldn't take down a fly, let alone an entire systematically organised rebel camp protected by strong, armed men.

Thankfully, no matter how much once upon a time I've prayed upon it, I'm nothing like my father and I don't have a habit of underestimating people, no matter how harmless they may seem.

Her story would have been credible if only she sounded more sincere - I guess faking emotions is a major problem in itself after suffering years of behavioral conditioning accompanied by a serious abuse by various drugs.

When I finally reach my destination and notice the shrub in question, I walk around this still uncommon natural structure and crouch in the same position she did. I look down and notice something red and flashy stuck on the uneven ground - some kind of a transmitter, I believe. I examine the ground with an open palm and feel a small bump underneath my hand.

I smirk - eureka, she did bury something here!

I immerse two of my fingers into the ground and, after several seconds of wiggling them around, pull a dirty paper out of the hole. She had probably snuck the paper and a pen in her backpack. I frown at our security protocol - I'm sure they've searched her backpack, however, obviously not thoroughly enough. Who knows what else she's hiding in there.

I take a flashlight out of my jacket pocket - courtesy of Caroline - before unfolding the paper and going through her rather messy handwriting.

She re-told them - I'm guessing her employers - everything that has happened to her since the moment she left Urbs. Everything she had heard or seen; she had also analyzed and shared the conclusion with them. Well, almost everything, since there's no mention of some of the conversations I know she had, or how she felt during all this - only cold, hard facts.

Tone of her letter is entirely cold and reserved, very peculiar in contrast to the passionate and opinionated woman I have come to know during these past few days.

I crumple the paper in my hand before disposing it into my pocket so I can bury my face into the open palms of my bare hands. If I hadn't caught her, she would have been able to convey all these information to her bosses and then who knows what would have happened. I have no idea what their real angle is here - if they wanted us dead, they would have us dead by now. It's not like they don't know we are here.

Unless they don't. Unless they really don't think all these people have managed to survive after they have banished them.

Why would they? They have kicked them out with no food, no water, no supplies, with nowhere to go and with a premise it's impossible to survive outside the city walls.

I take an empty piece of paper and a pen - also courtesy of Caroline, bless her - and start writing a new message with a shaky hand. I try to make it as dry as she did. I keep the very beginning of her letter the same, since it seems harmless, however, I leave out her experiences inside the camp and instead write _"didn't find any traces of life, yet"_. I also say she's heading in the direction opposite of the campsite, to throw them off track.

I fold my nifty little message and replace it with hers, burying it into the hole in the ground. When I'm done, I stick the transmitter on the top of the hole and walk away from it.

I know that they are aware of my existence, however, that's the only thing I know. Some walls are impenetrable and, no matter how hard I try, I can never find my way around them. If I were them, I would have been curious; mysteries and riddles tickle my imagination and I would have to tickle them back, with all ten of my fingers. But petty discoveries bring no joy to men like my father.

I know I worry them; I am guilty for one or two sleepless nights, I am sure, so how come they have never entertained themselves with the speculation I am not alone? That there's more of us.

Are they really so comfortable in their own skin that entertaining themselves with the possibility of a threat is below them? Or are they afraid?

Because if the world is inhabitable again, then that means that they were wrong, and that's a mistake they can't afford.

I take a deep breath and my thoughts shift back to Elena.

How could have I been this stupid? Granted, my penis does more thinking than my brain when I'm around her, nevertheless, I have seriously underestimated her. I have let her into the camp, knowing she's a threat, because I...

What? What did I think? That she can be changed? That she will abandon her comfortable life for patched tents and tasteless soups and rebellion without a cause? That she will switch to our side if I ask her really, really nicely?

I exhale the breath I forgot I've been holding.

She's our best chance. Even if she can't be convinced to abandon her fake belief system, she can be a valuable source of information.

I could have gotten everyone killed by letting a threat like her among us.

And tomorrow I'm going to wake up and let her in even deeper.

* * *

After only few hours of sleep, I wake up for a run; my mind is a well adjusted alarm clock, making sure I wake up, eat, use the bathroom and fall back asleep always at the same time. My life has become a routine I never planned to have.

Today, I keep my run extremely brief because I can feel my body loosing large amounts of energy very quickly. After I shower, I move towards the kitchen, my stomach glued to my back. I hope I will be able to find some leftovers before she wakes up and we start her training, because it would be really embarassing if I failed to keep up with her. Also, I need to gather myself after yesterday's discoveries, and for that I need piece and quiet.

I skim over our tiny city of colourful, patched up tents, where everyone are still sleeping comfortably, oblivious to the danger among them. I enter the dark kitchen - if you can even call it that - with one question on my mind: when did I become so bitter and cynical?

Maybe when my father created a society which made me choose between living like a robot and living like... this.

I find some questionable pea soup, however, I decide to try it anyway, as cold and as mushy as it seems.

"Hey," I hear a gentle, timid voice behind me, the wooden bowl halfway to my mouth.

A contradictory mixture of fear and hope starts to rise simultaneously in my body, from the bottom of my toes to the top of my head, as soon as one particular speculation floats into my mind - maybe it's _her_.

I know it isn't her because she never sounded so soft or kind or sincere when adressing me, so my heart shifts back into its place and instead of feeling relief, I feel disappointment.

"I came by looking for you yesterday, but you weren't there", she admits, demending answers. I can hear accussation in her voice, which irritates me because she very well knows that we don't owe each other anything.

"I took the newcomer for a walk since neither of us could sleep," I answer, because there's no need to hide anything. Honesty is the key, and a necessity, especially in this camp.

"Elena," she utters her name. I would think she's reminding me of it if it weren't for the bitterness in her voice.

I turn around. As always, there's a certain kind of saddness around her. Her hair, those big brown locks of hers, are enclosing her face - her eyes are tired, and her lips quivering.

"Yes, Elena," I confirm, even if there never was any doubt, lowering myself to the level of a stubborn child.

Well, when compared to her, I am a child. There's a wide gap between the years of our birth - the only reason we have found one another is due to unfortunate circumstances because of which her saddness can fit comfortably in the emptiness inside me.

She dips her head to the side. "You like her?"

I snort; how preposterous of her to assume such a thing. "Define like," I tease, sporting a half-offended, half-curious look on my face.

She smiles faintly. "Like... like in the stories told by our grandparents of how people used to like each other before, under different circumstances. When people used to have roses in their garden and song in their heart."

Her answer stunts me, her words wipe off all the smugness from my expression.

However, someone else's smugness saves me from a dreadful conversation.

"Hey, pretty boy, you here?"

Okay, now I'm 100% sure it's her.

"I tried looking for you in the weapon's shed, but - " she steps into the kitchen, and her look falls on Meredith sooner than it falls on me.

She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms, leaning to the side and shifting her entire density on one side of her body.

"Am I interrupting something?" she asks like one of those girls my mother has warned me about; girls fully aware of their power and its effects on other people.

"No," I say hastly. Meredith shifts her eyes from Elena to me, lazily, looking extremely disappointed by the words coming out of my mouth. "I was just about to find you. Come," I order her and, to my surprise, she follows me after I move past both her and Meredith, out in the open.

* * *

"Your lady friend?" she asks quizzically while we walk towards the open space, away from the tents and sleepy people inside them.

"Lady friend?" I mock her and her choice of words.

"You know, your companion, your partner..."

One would think she would feel offended by my tone of voice, yet, more than anything, she sounds ashamed for saying anything at all.

"No," I huff. "We are only having sex."

The sound of her footsteps disappears, and she stops in place, completely motionless, like a human-like statue.

Curious, I turn my head back, only to catch a look of complete and utter shock widespread on her face.

"You and your partner can have sexual intercourse only after you have been in a committed relationship for a year, or more," she utters.

I cock my eyebrow at her. "Says who?" I ask casually.

She clenches her fists, which dangle freely by the side of her body, and as red as a pepper in her face, she screams - "The law!"

I chuckle, amused by the way she blindly follows their senseless law, like she doesn't know any better, when it's obvious she is a pretty smart and capable cookie in an otherwise rotten batch.

How does that old saying go? You can take a girl out of Urbs, but not the Urbs out of a girl?

I narrow my eyes, "In case you haven't noticed, I really don't care for the law."

"If you take an obligation of having a sexual intercourse with someone, you should at least be serious about the person," she continues, this time more calmly.

"Obligation?" I ask, horrified. "Sex shouldn't be an obligation, but a pleasure."

She crosses her arms and huffs, as if I'm the one who's in the dark here. "Pleasure? Don't be preposterous."

I consider this an open invitation to make her feel more uncomfortable than she already is.

"Congratulations on your once a year big city obligatory sex, however, here in the real world, sex is for pleasure. Well, that's how I do it, at least" I say smugly.

Judging by the look on her face, I have succeeded in my intention.

After several moments of observing me, she probably reminds herself that she's supposed to pretend to be someone else, so she rolls her eyes and says, rather deviantly, "Whatever."

She furrows her brows and, oh boy, if looks could kill I would be someone's deep fried dinner by now. "Isn't the weapons room the other way?"

Now that I'm convinced our little charade is done, I start walking again in the direction of our destination. "Yup, but we won't need any weapons."

She catches up with me pretty quickly. "What do you mean we won't need any weapons? Aren't we having a training session?"

I exhale, already tired of her games and pretending, and I know we still have a long way to go. "Look, Elena, I'm going to be frank with you," I look down at her and she looks up at me with those big fearful doe eyes of hers and I... oh, fuck. I remain quiet for a moment in order to gather my thoughts, leaving her in anticipation.

"You are new here, you still think your ex bosses are the good guys and you are still pretty set in your old ways. You probably think you would be better of back in the city, in the system that failed you. However, you also have an appetatite for being a guard and helping us protect this place. I think you can understand why I'm not exactly jumping at the opportunity of placing a weapon in your hands."

She may be a good actress, but she really isn't that good. I know how people who have been expeled from their own lives look like. I have seen too many faces full of despair to know when someone's faking it. And she's definitely faking it. What she's doing is an insult, a slap in the face for all the people who have suffered the actual expulsion.

"I am trying," she replies, her voice sprained. "You know, Rome wasn't built in a day either."

With one quick move, I whip my head in her direction. "What did you just say?"

"Rome wasn't built in a day. It basically means things take time."

I know what it means. I've heard my father say it to my brother many times in the midst of his tantrums caused by stubbornness and impatience.

"Prove it."

"What?" she squeaks.

"You said you're trying - prove it."

"How?"

I ponder on it for a while, carefully choosing my weapon.

"Tell me something you think is wrong with our new society."

I can see fear in her eyes, slowly turning into hate towards me for making her do this. She's been manipulated into thinking there's nothing wrong with the society she lives in, that it's completely and utterly perfect when, in truth, nothing is 100% perfect. Even the things you're satisfied with have holes in them, let alone things you can see are problematic from a distance.

"Prohibition of colours, because they're too distracting," she says suddenly, like she had this answer ready all along.

She gives me a look, like she's waiting for confirmation that her answer is fine. And I'm ready to give her one, when she continues.

"Attitude towards creativity. How you can converse only with people who are vastly similar to you. Getting negative points for marrying someone below your rank. Getting points at all."

She bites her lip.

I really want to gloat right now. I want to point a finger at her and make childlike rhymes about me being right, and her being wrong. But I won't.

I won't, because, right now, she's going through something she can't explain. A crisis of identity, self realisation, call it whatever you like, but there's a look of insecurity and despair and loss in her eyes right now. And if she can feel like this, that means she isn't a lost cause.

So instead, I say, "Attack me."

"What?" she asks, slightly horrified by my suggestion.

"Just because we won't use weapons doesn't mean we aren't going to train. Attack me."

I don't have to tell her twice.

She throws a punch which I block easily.

"You will have to do a lot better than that," I say.

"Oh, I'm just getting started," she smirks.

She throws another punch which I block, but this time with more effort. She takes the remaining time to raise her leg and give me a sidekick with her foot. I can barely feel it, but I don't take this as a win - now she knows she has to kick harder.

She's good. She's small and dainty, but she's also fast and knows how to move. She knows what she's doing, which is more than I can say for one third of men in our army, if you can call it that.

We dance for a while - she makes a move, I block it; I make a move, she escapes it. I kick, she twirls; I grab, she pulls.

Until she finally makes a mistake - she uses the same move she did before. She takes a punch, I avoid it, so she lifts her leg for a sidekick - and, this time, I would definitely feel it because her kicks have become harsher and stronger.

But, before her foot makes contact with my body, I grab her by her ankle. I catch a surprised look in her eyes before I send her falling down - and myself with her.

I pin her to the ground, stopping my body right above hers, maintaining my balance with some help of my arms.

"You're good for a - "

"A girl?" she cuts me off, her eyebrow raised.

"For someone who had a comfortable city life," I finish my sentence.

We're not touching, but that doesn't really matter because I can feel the warmth of her body in the small space left between our bodies. She's sweaty from the morning sun, her skin is shiny and the strains of her hair are glued to her forehead. Her face is red, uffy and her breath shaky, and I still haven't seen a more beautiful being in this world than her. There's something in her eyes that says _"come and fight me"_ , and I find that incredibly attractive.

"Maybe I didn't always have a comfortable city life," she shifts underneath me.

I cock my head to the side. "Still, there are some improvements to be made."

She frowns, "Like what?"

"Your moves are pretty repetitive. You lack strategical thinking."

"I can live with that," she responds.

We share a genuine smile. Dangerous.

"Stefan!"

I hear someone yelling my name.

I move away from Elena, popping back up - partly to see who needs me, partly because I don't want anyone to have a wrong impression when it comes to Elena's and mine relationship.

Once I stand up, I notice Lexi running in our direction.

"Stefan! Come! Hurry up! We have another newcomer!"


	9. Chapter 9

**_\- ELENA'S POV -_**

She's a mess; a shaky, muddy mess. Her clothes are torn, hanging from her body in uneven pieces. However, in certain places, it's very hard to indicate where her tainted rags end, and her mud-caked skin begins - they have become one. Golden hair strains are visible underneath several layers of mud covering her head.

She looks like a warrior, remainder of some older, wilder times - if only she weren't so afraid. Her shakes resemble convulsions more than they resemble a natural tremor human body makes when its temperature drops. She keeps reaching for people and pulling back almost instantly; I have never seen someone so afraid of their own demand for a human touch.

They have transfered her to the same room they took me when I stumbled upon their campsite, away from hundreds of prying eyes full of hope and fear it's someone they know and love.

She's sitting on the floor, backed against a wooden wall, shaking like a wounded animal. There's a fearful look in her eyes, barely visible from the caked hair falling across her face.

"Hey..." Stefan tries to calm her down, the look in his eyes warm and his arms outstretched towards her. She winces when the tip of his finger reaches her knees and digs her fingernails deeper into the floor, trying to drive herself further into the wall. "It's okay, you're safe here" he says, yet he pulls himself away from her when he notices how uncomfortable his presence makes her. "Can you tell us your name?" he asks.

Lexi is standing in front of the sink, her back turned to us. She's trying to dampen a piece of a cloth under a slow, poor water stream. Her hand movements are minimal and her shoulders tense.

The woman gives Stefan a look and, although the corners of her mouth tremble, she doesn't say a word.

I shouldn't be here, I'm not even doing anything - nurture simply isn't in my DNA. I have no idea why I followed them here. Curiosity, I guess, and an unhealthy does of selfish reasons.

My body is irritated by the lack of presence of his body on top of mine, and I am bothered by how quickly I have stopped being the very center of his attention.

Lexi turns the water off and comes closer to Stefan, a half damp cloth tucked safely in her hand. Unlike Stefan's warm and soothing look, hers is calm and stoic. Also, unlike Stefan, she doesn't really try to reach for the woman in order to calm her down.

"Here," she says and extends her arm in order for the woman to take the cloth from her hand by herself. "So you can clean yourself up."

After several seconds of hesitation, she quickly reaches for the cloth and grabs it from Lexi's hands, pushing her face into the damp cotton.

"Elena," my name leaves his mouth. His voice seems strained as he utters the five letters of my name, yet he never as much as glances at me. "Could you please find Meredith and tell her to have someone run a warm bath?"

I shift my attention from the woman to him, expecting him to look at me, however, he never does. His jaw clenches, his jaw bones popping up towards his cheekbones, pushing them up.

"Sure," I say.

I turn on my heel and leave the room, however, the feeling of unease and discomfort remains.

* * *

I walk across rows and rows of practically placed tents, trying my best to avoid everyone's stuff, especially the clumsily carved wooden toys scattered around the place. The campiste is basically deserted - everyone went back to their chores once they realised they won't be getting any new information anytime soon due to the unstable state the newcomer is currently in.

The picture of his body on top of mine is stuck in my head, turning down desparate inquiries made by my mind to allow it an intermission from the thoughts its having. The feeling of his slick, bare skin on mine stays with me as well, like an unwanted, bothersome companion. His skin warm, his touch electric, approximately as exhilarating as it's exhausting to endure.

When the new order came, I was more than happy to comply to their _no feelings_ policy. After years of hunger, fear, sadness and loss, being unbothered by those pesky feelings came like a mail ordered reward. Until it didn't feel like a reward anymore. Until I've realised they can only numb my emotions, but never stop me from actually and completely feeling them. They were good at setting down rules which disabled me from expressing them, though, and all that numbness came in handy during the majority of the moments I had to spend in Damon's presence.

Now, those same feelings tickle my insides and I have no idea how to treat them - they're like an itch I'm unable to scratch. It's like I lost the ability to comprehend and act upon the chemical reactions in my own body.

If my mother could hear me, she would say I'm oversimplyfing the situation, as usual. If feelings began and ended as chemical reactions in our brain, we wouldn't spend so much time on them.

When I finally reach the kitchen, Meredith's place of work, I discover that she's the only one there. I'm guessing others girls are in the garden, or by the pond, which would be why she's all alone here since, judging by her complexion, she doesn't look like she gets out much during the day.

"Um, hi," I say awkwardly as I step inside. We were actually never properly introduced to one another, so our familiarity with one another is based on an assumption.

She's washing dishes in an enormous wooden barrel, arranging dry bowls in a weird looking wiry construction. The floor around her is drenched in water and foam, and so is a good portion of her clothes.

She turns around at the sound of my voice, a painfully obvious wide-eyed expression painted across her face. I'm unsure if she's surprised, afraid or both.

"Stefan asked me to tell you to run a bath," I say. "Not for him, for the newcomer," I try to make a joke, but my poor interpretation of what passes under funny around here only manages to make this entire situation more uncomfortable.

She nods. "I'll handle it."

I nod and take a step backwards, anxious to leave that room and distressful atmosphere inside of it as soon as possible.

She had a look of equally distributed amount of hate, distrust and envy towards me, and I have no idea why I awoke such feelings in her.

I wish I didn't care, but ever since I arrived here, every little thing I notice eats me up.

And I notice everything. Like the fact that Stefan's voice - no, scratch that, his entire attitude towards me has changed in a matter of minutes.

I... I need some time for myself. All of this... all of these people, these situations, these thoughts that keep multiplying inside of my head are too much for me to handle.

So, instead of heading back to the cabin, I head in the other direction, to the place I'm sure no one will bother looking for me.

* * *

I crawl inside my tent, despite it being directly under the sun. It's probably 30 degrees inside; my body starts sweating as soon as I enter this dome shaped sauna made of polyester. I push away all the items residing near my body, especially a thick blanket underneath me and I continue lying on a curvy ground, rocks and other bulges portruding from the soil poking me in the spine.

I place my hands on my stomach, trying to make myself occupy as meager amount of space as possible. I close my eyes and inhale deeply.

 _I'm here on a mission, I'm not here to question my life choices or my belief system,_ I say inside my head.

 _If not now, when,_ another voice inside my head speaks up. _When you return to your captors? When they pump various and numerous drugs into your system in order for your mind to go blank, only to make you their compliant little soldier?_ This other voice is more rebelious and agressive, yet familiar.

That's true, the system took a lot of my memories; some of which I have wished gone, some of which I have missed terribly.

 _The system demands its sacrifices,_ I say back.

 _The system is wrong,_ the voice responds bondly, using words which would make me choke mid sentence if I even as much as tried to utter them. _"People are made of bad experiences as much as they're made of good. That's how you learn. But the system doesn't want you to learn, it wants you to obey."_

 _The system is home,_ I say firmly.

 _The system is a prison,_ the voice retorts quickly - it always has a comeback ready, like this conversation was scripted beforehand but I never got a copy.

There are demilune marks on my stomach, courtesy of my fingernails. _He's an enemy._

The voice falls quiet and, just as I dare to think it has nothing more to say, it whispers gently - _he's just a boy._

 _He's a rebel._

 _He's the future._

 _Not mine._

 _Yours, if you allow it._

I don't say anything back. It seems pointless to take this conversation any further. So instead, I fall asleep.

* * *

I wake up after dusk. All there is around me is darkness, and irritating pain in my lower back. Ouch - I guess sleeping pressed directly against the bumpy ground wasn't exactly the best decision.

I pull myself up into a sitting position, my sore body begging for action. My skin is sticky and my hair damp from all the sweat, so I make a bun on the top of my head from the mess that's growing out of it.

I crawl outside of my tent and, as I stand up, I instantly notice everyone huddled around the bonfire on the other side of the campsite. People are chattering cheerfully, children are running around, laughter is audible - it actually seems like a pleasant atmosphere.

I make my way towards the crowd - I know I'm still an outsider since I have never actually made an effort to alter the situation. Once I approach them, I notice Stefan instantly. He's sitting on a log, a soft smile bouncing of his lips, his eyes fixed on the fire, listening to the person sitting next to him. I can't see who it is since they're wrapped into a blanket from head to toe.

"Oy!" someone, a man sitting opposite of Stefan yells, clapping several times in a row. I know him, I've seen him around, I've simply never learned his name. "It's story time," he smirks, staring his prey into the eyes. Few people start cheering.

Stefan looks up, giving him a cautionary look, one everyone who where on the other side of know it shouldn't be taken lightly. He leans towards the person sitting next to him and asks them a question I can't really hear. The person nods and slides the blanket off of her head.

Silence.

No way - it's the newcomer. Her hair is indeed dark blonde, her eyes blue and the look in them piercing. Looking at her now, I realise she can't be more than few years older than me.

"Hey y'all," she says with a thick southern accent, one you wouldn't expect to come out of the mouth of someone who loooks like her. "My name is Rebecca, I'm 27 years old and back home I used to be a kindergarten teacher," she painfully swallows after uttering the word _home_.

"By home, you mean Urbs?" someone from the inner crowd asks.

She nods and people begin to mumbel unhappily.

I can understand her. Urbs is home to me as well. Urbs is home to everyone who have found their place in the system.

"How did you end up here?" another person asks.

Her eyes grow wide and she inhales deeply, loudly. Stefan places his hand on top of hers - for support, I'm sure - which is how I notice she's shaking again. Not as bad as before, but her hands are clearly bouncing in her lap.

"When you turn 25, if you already don't have a longterm partner, they match you up with someone from the database," she starts talking.

Our nation faces extinction. Numbers are rising, but only because of the rules like this one. In a world in which there's a decrease in population, these kinds of rules aren't crazy at all. Still, I can hear some horrified gasps from people who have never heard of this practice.

Healthy and wealthy women are the priority. They are matched with men of the same status. Healthy young people who do well in the system will have healthy children who will secure the stability and sustainability of the system years from now.

Couples who pair up by themselves have to go through matching in order for the system to make sure they have made a wise choice.

"I was matched to a man 7 years my age who worked in food processing. To make a long story short, our relationship wasn't exactly working out, so I have filed a complaint."

They are making sure to constantly remind us that the system isn't perfect because it's still being developed, but that we should trust is. However, they allow us to make complaints because they want us to feel comfortable in providing suggestions and feedback on how to improve the system.

"Three days after, two armed men came to my house and took me to the facility inside the Complex. I have never been inside the Complex before."

"What's a Complex?" someone asks.

Stefan exhales. "That's where privileged dipshits work and live," he announces, a smirk visible on his face.

I frown. _Geez, why don't you tell me what you really think of me?_

"They told me I have failed the system by filing an improper and untruthful complaint. They also said they have talked to my match and that he said I was unwilling to give our partnership a try. And that they have no other choice but to remove me from the syste."

 _Liar, liar, liar_ \- I have an urge to yell this word directly in her face, repeatedly.

Complaints are evaluated. Those who have filed complaints are talked to and helped. No one gets removed from the system simply because they don't like who they were matched with. The system has its faults, but it's here to protect us. Why would they exile a healthy young woman who can have children? That's self-destruction. Filing a complaint isn't an offense, no matter the nature of the topic. If they claim she lied, they would strip some of her sincerity points, but they would never exile her like some criminal.

Lies, all lies.

I shake my head and turn on my heel - I think it's better I leave before I say something I will regret. I notice an empty log in the distance, far away from the crowd, but still close enough to hear the murmur of their voices.

I make myself comfortable on the prickly, untreated wood and look in the direction of the city. At least that's where I think Urbs is. I close my eyes and imagine myself back in my condo, on top of my soft mattress, wrapped in my snow white sheets. A smell of home cooked meal is calling me from the kitchen, a full glass of wine next to my plate.

I would lose so many points for vanity right now.

"A penny for your thoughts," he says.

His voice snaps me back to reality. I open my eyes just as he's about to sit next to me on the log.

"You sure you should be seen talking to a privileged dipshit?" I snap at him.

I catch a look of confusion in his eyes before it dawns on him.

He smiles, probably thinking he should have figured it out sooner. "The Complex," he states simply.

"Yup," I nod. "Home, sweet home," I say, trying to provoke him.

I fail.

"You never came back from Meredith's," he tears his look away from me, now looking straight ahead.

"Don't tell me you missed me," I tease.

He makes no reaction, no sound. I guess he's not in the mood for games.

"I needed some time for myself."

"Where were you?" he asks, curious.

Was he looking for me?

"My tent."

"Jesus, Elena," he shifts his attention back to me and the pace in which he turns his head around makes me look at him as well, for the first time since he came here. "Are you crazy? It's too hot to be in the tents during the day." There's a mix of worry and anger in his yes, a look I have seen in my mothers eyes one time too many when Jeremy and me would break the curfew. There's also urgency, like he's waiting for an answer to a question he's never asked.

"I'm fine," I say, hoping that's what he wants to hear.

He continues looking at me in the same manner until the skin around his eyes softens. He nods.

"I did see you tonight, though - you don't approve of Rebecca's story?"

Sometimes I think he likes arguing with me because he keeps asking questions he knows I won't answer to his liking. Or maybe he keeps foolishly hoping I will change my mind.

"It doesn't add up," I exhale.

"Which part?"

Did I hit my head, or does he actually sound curious about what I have to say?

"Why would they banish a healthy and productive member of society simply because she disliked her partner?"

"Why would they banish anyone?" he challanges me. "Maybe you don't know the system as well as you would like to think."

That's a good point, one I'm still trying to come to terms with.

"Actions have consequences," I retort.

"You know, Elena, you make me question your motives."

A conclusion: I like the sound of my name rolling off of his lips.

"Here we have Rebecca who's been banished for around four days ago and she's already expressing her distaste in the system that harmed her. And here we have you who's been banished for some weeks now and you're still protecting that same system."

Anger starts to rise in me - it inflates my lungs and makes me feel bloated. I'm ready to explode just to feel relief.

"Oh, come on, she was a poor kindergarten teacher who was matached to an old dude she disliked. Compared to her, I lived like a queen."

Once I'm done, once I actually hear the words that came out of my mouth, I conclude I don't like this side of myself. These words, said in anger, said to protect something I don't fully believe in don't even sound like mine.

"Now you really do sound like a privileged dipshit."

I don't say anything to that because I know I do, but I would never admit that to him. So I keep my mouth shut.

He, on the other hand, takes the handle of a knife already plunged into my stomach and twists it. "Even so, dispite your differences, the both of you have ended up here, in the same place. Same circle of hell. Taking into consideration your loss was much greater than hers, you should be angrier than her, and you're not, which makes me think that you're either a liar, or a masochist."

I won't allow my feelings get the best of me. I will control them.

"You know why I'm not angry? Because I can't be angry anymore. For quite some time, angry was all I was, so when they came up with a method to make it go away, I welcomed it," I dig my nails into the log, trying to make them sink into the hard wood. "I don't know about you, but my life in the world before is something I want to erase completely and remember forever at the same time. My family lived in a house size of a shack. The clearest memory I have while growing up is this: we went from eating once a day to eating every other day to eating once a week. At one point, there wasn't even enough food for all four of us to eat once a week. My brother was two years younger than me but didn't look like it, so he kept giving me his food and water. Because he was bigger and stronger. So by the time the sirens which had announced the arrival of new system came, I was the only one who got out of that house alive." My eyes start watering and in return I start yelling at myself, in my head, to stay strong. "The system is far from perfect, but at least they're trying to create a world in which children don't have to watch their parents die from starvation."

I know that he's looking at me, I can feel the density of his look on my entire body. I can't look at him because I know that if I allow myself to fall into those soft eyes of his, I might drown and never find my way to the surface again.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm truly, truly sorry."

I don't know why I told him my story. In Urbs, we never mentioned the world before, we pretended it never existed because the system insisted on it. I guess I was tired of him judging me, so I revealed him my weakness, which was quite stupid of me and I can bet I'll pay for it in the future, one way or another.

I decide it's best to change the topic, so I throw the ball to into his court.

"Do you know where your family is?" I ask.

"I'm pretty confident they're all still in there. My father and brother always were kind of men who would do well in a place like Urbs," he says. I have never heard him speak so hatefully of anyone.

"And your mother?"

"My mother has been ill for as long as I can remember, so she never had much of a choice in anything."

"Ill?"

For some reason, I want to dig deeper into him until I reveal all of his secrets. I'm unsure what I would do with them once I had them.

He places his forefinger against his temple and ticks it against his skull several times. "Mentally. Sometimes, though, she seemed like the most lucid person in our house. She loved art, in all of its forms; songs, poems, paintings. She loved feeling alive."

"Is that why you disagree with the system?"

"Maybe. Partially. I don't understand the idea behind it; I don't understand the premise of stealing simple pleasures in life, and I certainly don't understand the need for the lack of emotions. The world before fell apart precisely because people lacked emotions."

"The world before fell apart because people were greedy and selfish and intolerant. They gave, and in return they took tenfold."

"Yes, that does seem like the root of the problem."

Holy crap, did the two of us just agree on something?"

"However, to control every aspect of one's being isn't the solution to the problem. Look at the lives you lead there - they pump you up with drugs so you would feel pleasantly numb. You consume the food you don't enjoy; you have your position based on the skills, knowledge and behaviour you have developed in an unstructured, apocalyptic society; you make friends by opportunity; your partners are chosen for you based on your personality traits; you fuck only to have children and you have children because you have to - and that's life?" he scoffs. "What happens in intermissions?"

I cock my head to the side, giving him a curious look. I'm also in awe, to some extent, and I hope I don't let it show. "Intermissions?"

"You know, moments between the technical aspects of life; moments you keep for yourself and those you truly care for; moments during which you know you're truly alive..."

I can see him reach for my hand from the corner of my eye, and I do nothing to stop him. He takes my hand and pulls it towards him, outstretching my arm. He holds my hand in his, while he uses the fingers of his other hand to caress the soft, thin skin of my arm.

"You know, intermissions... when you consume certain produce because your insides crave for it. When you're in your bed, underneath the covers, reading a really tense book. When your friend is retelling you a story you already know you will remember forever."

I move closer to him, an action that seems somewhat involuntary, like my body is making decisions on its own.

"When you have to pee really, really badly and you finally do. When you see him sitting across the table and you get a stronge urge to kiss him, so you do. When you scream while he's inside you."

I swallow, completely mesmerised by the words coming out of his mouth.

"You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you? Because you're not allowed intermissions; they're punishable. They take your points for vanity, cravings, too much happiness, too much love... pleasure. They pump you up with drugs and when they start wearing off, they punish you for being human. So you have to learn how to control your thoughs and feelings enough to deceive the technology. You have to be smart to know how to add and deduct your chances to feel, because you can experience one thing if you sacrifice the other - a positive zero. And you're a pretty smart cookie, aren't you?" he asks.

I look up from the place where the tip of his fingers meet my skin and our eyes lock. He smiles at me, and I smile back.

"How do you feel?" he asks me.

"Right now?"

"Right now."

"I feel cold and warm at the same time; like I'm getting tickled from the inside; like I'm on fire. And drunk. I feel drunk."

I don't know where all these words came from, but here they are. And judging by the expression of his face, neither does he. He looks stunned - maybe I said something I shouldn't have, or something he didn't expect me to say.

"Mhm. You have goosebumps, and your skin is kinda sticky. You are breathing faster, and you have sucked in your inner lip exactly five times since I took your arm. Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Uh-uh," I nod.

I can't feel my legs? Where are my legs?

"Can I kiss you?" he asks, very suddenly.

"What?"

"Well, I would really like to kiss you. However, you did say you have someone back in the city, so I was wondering... can I kiss you?"

Damn, he has a good memory.

My eyes travel to his lips, like they did many, many times before. And just like I did many, many times before, I wonder what it would be like to kiss him. To kiss someone without having to take a test to see if you're a match; to kiss someone regardless of their paygrade or position.

"No," I say.

He nods, conducting himself fully based on my answer. "Okay," he answers.

I scoot myself closer to him, reducing the gap between our bodies. "Only because I would really like to kiss you," I say before I press my lips against his, and... wow.

I think the universe has just answered every single one of my questions.

I don't think my lips stay pressed to his for more than five seconds before he kisses me back, his tongue parting my lips, seeking acces into my mouth.

He pulls his hands away from my arm, which is quite a disappointment, but only for a while since one of his hands ends up above my hip and I realise I have a more than one burnout point.

I wrap my arms around his neck, and cross my hands at my wrists, allowing them to rest on one another. The tips of my fingers dangle above the back of his neck. I pull him down, towards me, so I can slightly feel the weight of his body leaning against mine.

I was kissed by several guys back in Urbs, and none of them have ever kissed me like this before. Softly, gently, teasingly, hungrily. Like they want to protect me, but at the same time rough me up a bit.

His other hand ends up in the nook above my hip as well and he slightly squeezes the skin around my waist, making me jump.

One of my hands falls on his shoulder, and slips onto his biceps. He's firm and strong. I remember the feeling of having his body on top of mine. I can only imagine how it would feel to have him...

Thanks to his hands on my hips, he lifts me off the log and I find myself on his lap. Our lips never break apart during this little acrobatic stunt of his. I spread my legs further apart in order to fall deeper into him; my spread palms fall onto his well formed torso while his hands move in the direction of my ass. I can feel his fingertips travel across my skin until they find their place and he squeezes my asscheeks.

I moan into his mouth.

I can feel... well, everything. There's nothing disrupting this intermission we're living. I can feel him, and I can feel myself. I don't know how we've manged to be so in sync, but I'm sure glad that we did.

He teasingly bites my lower lip and, somehow, without me noticing, his lips leave mine and end up on my neck. I exhale loudly while feeling his body underneath me.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful," he curses into my skin. "Even if I tried to imagine you, you wouldn't have turned out this beautiful. If only you weren't a spy."

I stop in place. Somehow, my heart starts to beat even faster. I distance myself from him in order to look him in the eyes.

"What?" I ask, thinking I've misheard him.

He cocks his head to the side, his hands weirdly still on my ass, and says - "I know who you are."


	10. Chapter 10

_**\- STEFAN'S POV -**_

I lean my head onto my shoulder and give her a sideways glance; a mix of fear and confusion dances wickedly inside those brown eyes of hers. For someone whose mere survival depended solely on controlling her feelings all these years, she's surprisingly bad at it. But then again, I know how easy it can be to feign indifference when you have nothing to lose and no one to care for.

"I know who you are," I say, looking directly into her eyes.

Her pupils grow, becoming rounder, larger and blacker.

"I don't understand what you mean by that," her defense mechanism kicks in, and she tries to stand up in order to distance herself from me as far as possible.

She's quick in her reactions, but I am quicker. I place my hands on her hips, my fingers falling comfortably in the nook between her hips and waist, and I pin her back onto my lap.

When her body collides with mine, she releases a surprised _'yelp'_ and gives me a fearful look, one that makes me regret my actions immediately. However, her fearful look turns into one of shock and disbelief before it finally welcomes anger and frustration and makes them feel like at home.

"Stay," I say in such a mellow tone of voice which transforms a word I have intended to be an order into a plead. "This ends now - no more games, only the truth."

After several moments, she releases a huff of air and her entire demeanor changes. She crosses her arms, and her body slowly relaxes on top of mine. "How did you know?" she asks.

Animated chatter behind us becomes nothing more than a background noise. We aren't shielded from the look of the crowd, however, if someone did glance our way, they would only see a dark, distorted shadow in the distance.

"Where do I begin?" I say, a smug expression on my face. "The evidence is infinite; however, the main one remains - you can't fake trauma. The difference between Rebecca's and your behavior when you arrived here is incomparable."

I have no intention of mentioning I have seen her around the streets of Urbs - what would be the point?

"Why did you decide to say something now?" she asks, like she's the one in the position to interrogate me. Still, I allow it, but only because she's asking valid questions I would like to give answers to anyway.

"Because of the talk we had; the only reason you feel safe in the system is because of your adaptability skills. You don't like the system, you aren't happy there, nor are you satisfied - you are indifferent, and that's the most ungrateful state a human being can find itself in. To make things worse, you hate the system and you don't even know it; the system was created by the same people responsible for each and every death in the world before. Rich men whose families had an abundance of supplies who would rather see them go to waste than share with those less fortunate. You would have realized that sooner or later."

I remember how her words created a hole in my stomach, like acid, and filled it with feelings bordering with guilt and disgust. My family, and each and every family that lived nearby is directly responsible for her family's death. I can only imagine how many more children were left without their parents, and vice versa. And even though I was only an ignorant child back then, every bite I took now feels like a betrayal.

"Also, like you're unable to feign trauma, you're also unable to hide surprise, which is how I know they have been keeping secrets from you. And now that you know them, do you think they're going to allow you back in just like that?"

She rolls her eyes. "And you're telling me all of this why exactly?"

I inhale deeply before I answer, "Because you're going to help me take the system down."

She gives me a surprised look before laughing into my face, and I really do wish I didn't find her laughter adorable. "And why in the world would I do that?"

"Well, in addition to everything I've already said, did I mention I've also found the note you have intended for you bosses?" I raise my eyebrow, happy I'm finally in a position to utilize one more of her secrets, one I have a physical proof of.

She frowns, like she doesn't understand the meaning behind my words; and she doesn't, not until it dawns on her and her entire facial expression changes.

"You barely mention me," I tease her, enjoying every minute of confusion and surprise crumpling the lines of her face, especially in the area under her eyes and around her nose. "That kinda hurts my feelings."

She frowns again, this time from anger and frustration more than confusion and surprise; she's not angry at me, she's angry at herself - I have an upper hand, and she knows it's because she was careless and too sure in herself.

"You do mention our camp's location," my eyes follow hers intently. "A wrong one, in all fairness. Why would you give them a wrong location?" I continue in my efforts to try to push her over the edge.

She squints, trying to suppress her frustration. "I really don't have to justify my actions to you."

I smirk. "Anyway, apart from losing trust in your beloved system, you really don't have any other choice but to help me. Unless you would like me to announce to the entire camp who you really are, but then your fate would be out of my hands." I blackmail her, but only for good measure.

"Fine," she snaps before exhaling desperately. "But this," she pulls an invisible line along the empty space between our bodies with the tip of her finger. "This is never happening again."

My smirk deepens. I either look incredibly sexy, or like a main villain from a comic book. "Now, now, what did we say about lying?"

"Uh!" she yells through her clenched teeth so only a muffled scream comes out. She hits me in the chest with her open palms, gets up from my lap and starts walking away from me, towards the crowd.

"Rude!" I yell after her.

She flips me off.

Ah, a beautiful beginning of a beautiful partnership.

* * *

"I guess congratulations are in order?" Lexi appears by my side as soon as I emerge from the darkness, into the crowd.

I look at her, fairly confused; "Excuse me?", I ask.

"I saw Elena. She looked particularly frustrated, which seems like your doing."

I grin, entertained by her conclusion. "Oh Lexi, I had no idea you think so highly of me."

"Are you denying it?" she raises her eyebrow, anxiously awaiting my response.

"Oh, no, it was me."

She shakes her head, laughing loudly. "I knew it", she exclaims victoriously, pumping her fist up in the air.

I smile, trying to savor these infantile moments between us.

"I don't think she will put up with your duchy charms for too long, so you better quit it. You obviously like this girl."

When I think about everything she had gone through with the men in her life back in Urbs, I realise I should be kinder and gentler and softer with her. However, I'm afraid I'm still stuck at a life stage where I think being mean to girls is the only valid way to show them I truly like them.

"Oh, come on, women can't resist my duchy charms," I say, simply because I'm unable to confess to another person that, yeah, I like this girl. I have liked her long before I actually met her, even though I was well aware that she's the enemy. One more wheel that keeps the system running.

"Speaking of women in your life, Meredith's been looking for you," she says, delicately, steering her look in the opposite direction.

Lexi's never been a big supporter of Meredith's and mine relationship, if you can even call it that. She had always thought that we're using each other which, in a way, we are. She needed me, and I like the feeling of being needed, of having someone depend on me - it's not stressful, it's highly satisfactory.

Which is why liking Elena doesn't fit my profile. She obviously doesn't need me, she can take care of herself.

"Okay. Thanks," I nod.

"I wish you would break things off with her already."

"I know."

"Whatever you have going on there, it's unhealthy."

"I know."

But at least it's something.

* * *

I've never been in love, and I guess the most frustrating part of never experiencing it is not knowing how it feels. Is it really life altering, mind numbing, soul crushing experience like the older stories claim or is it something you simply live with, like a newly acquired hobby?

I have often wondered - especially when I became old enough to understand my father's dark side - how did my father make my mother fall in love with him? She was so soft, and he was her polar opposite. Couldn't she see the monster in him?

After some time I've realized that my father didn't look at my mother the same way he looked at everyone else, and as a result, she had looked differently at him as well. I guess even monsters are capable of love.

When I approach my tent, I see Meredith standing next to it, her presence basically conjoined with the darkness that surrounds her.

She really is a vision - her slim figure and rich-in-volume wavy hair make her hard to resist, especially in these desperate times. However, her sadness has made her look much older than she really is, and she looks tired all the time.

"Hey," I nod at her, acknowledging her presence.

She's leaning onto one side of her body, and she has her arms crossed directly under her chest. She nods back at me, a half-assed attempt at silent communication.

Unsure of why she's here, I stop in place. Judging by her body language, sex isn't her intention, so I'm cautious.

"She's dangerous," she finally speaks, cryptically.

"Who?" I frown, confused by her statement, until I remember the only potentially dangerous person here. "Elena," I exhale her name; I'm still able to taste her inside my mouth and when I exhale, she spreads across the air which surrounds me. I look down, clicking my boots together - "Mer - "

"Look, before you say something profoundly stupid, like men often do because they don't know how to read the situation," she interrupts me, stepping closer to me. "I know she's young and new and shiny, and I know you like her. So much is obvious to everyone but her, apparently. There are no hard feelings," she swallows, denying her own words - maybe there are some hard feelings after all. "I think I know her from Urbs. She feels familiar, and not in a good way," she's standing so close to me that I can see the trajectory of every single line on her face.

She's thinking hard, trying to assign Elena a place in her memory, and in the meantime I pray to every almighty being that might be listening she's not successful in doing so.

After several moments, she looks up at me and her look becomes soft, loving, caring. "Promise me you'll be careful, is all," she bats her eyelashes at me, like an innocent, helpless presence when in reality both of us know she's much stronger than she gives herself credit for.

We have an understanding, Meredith and I. We both know that this thing we have isn't a relationship; one could even hardly call it a friendship. I know very little about her, she knows nothing about me. I know she has scars I can't see and that she's only using me to numb the pain. For me, she's an unsuccessful attempt to feel something, anything. To her, I'm only a warm body and a source of most primal satisfaction; to me, she's a distraction.

The thing is, when you begin using something or someone as a distraction, it turns into an addiction.

"I'll be careful," I make a promise I myself don't believe in. If Elena is a burning house, I'm a fool running into it.

She doesn't believe me either, I can see as much in her eyes. Has a man ever been able to resist a pretty girl? In a world before, even before our time, there were people who believed mankind was created simply because a man couldn't say no to a woman.

"Yeah, well, have a good night, Stefan," she nods and walks away.

"You too," I say and I watch her leave.

* * *

Like everyday, I'm up before everyone else; I like seeing the world come alive. It's already pretty warm, and it isn't even sunrise, so I leave my tent as quickly as possible and go for a run.

Today, Elena will be joining our strategical meeting. It's not like I'll be giving her weapons anytime soon, however, it might be good for her to meet the guys and feel the team spirit. Maybe it alters her perspective.

It's hard for me to concentrate on breathing properly when the only thing on my mind is her. The story she told me, about her life before she was placed in the system, is on my mind 24/7. Knowing this, I can't really blame her for welcoming her new life with arms wide open, even if it was imposed by others instead of chosen by her. Anything else would be extremely hypocritical from my part when you take into account I was warm and fed while she had to suffer and watch her family sacrifice themselves for her benefit. Of course she wanted to make the best out of the second chance she was given, she probably felt like she owes her life to them.

And now I despise my father even more, for making her build a false life on guilty conscience.

By the time I take a shower, some are already up while others are still stirring in their tens, so I make my way towards our headquarters. Our headquarters are several sewn-together white sheets tied around wooden poles under which two conjoined wooden desks and a map of Urbs can be found. Few of the men are already there, chatting and laughing and, over time, more of them start coming in.

And so does Elena. She stays in the back, so only few of the men notice her; one of them whispers something to the guy standing next to him and the guy gives her a creepy look. She's wearing denim shorts - where in the world did she find those - and a tank top, so I can only imagine which type of comments are being exchanged between two men. I wanna smash their teeth into their mouths.

Other men look at her weary, but they don't say anything.

I keep glancing at her in a rather desperate, yet unsuccessful attempt to catch her look. She seems distracted, maybe even worried.

"Okay," I make my voice heard and all the chatter stops. "Before we begin, I would like to inform you Elena will be joining our team."

I look at her, and everyone else follow my lead; she seems uncomfortable with so many pair of eyes on her.

"She's a female," Matt comments.

I'm still looking at her when she rolls her eyes upon that statement. "Jeez, nothing gets past you, does it?" she retorts.

I try to suppress my smile. "Yeah, I've noticed. She worked for the government, so her knowledge and skills could be of use to us," I comment.

"A government worker?" some start murmuring in distrust, whispering conspiracy theories among each other.

Alaric steps forward - "Stefan, are you sure that's a wise idea?"

I frown. "What happens in those four walls doesn't really matter - it's not real. We all have our baggage," I make a claim in her defense. Some of the men in our team have relatives who work for the government and we use them for our benefit, so these kind of objections won't be taken into account. "Now, can we proceed?"

They nod in approval, so we proceed.

* * *

Her attention span during the meeting was minimal. She tried to keep up, as much was obvious, yet her mind kept wandering off.

After our meeting ends and the guys leave, she stays and approaches me, cautiously.

Her hair's up in a wavy ponytail, hanging down her back.

"Your hair," I say when she approaches me which, I realise as soon as the words leave my mouth, sounds very creepy.

"Excuse me?" she raises her eyebrow in panic, reaching for her ponytail. "Ah, yes, this happens when it's humid," she answers politely, without me having to explain myself, which is quite weird - this isn't our dynamic, especially not after our last encounter. "Look, I have a question," she quickly switches back to business.

"Yeah," I nod, staring into her eyes.

"Do you have a long-term plan?" she lowers her voice, as if we're trading secrets instead of having a casual conversation. I mean, are we?

"What do you mean?" I ask her to explain herself.

"Well, this whole rebellion of yours is about overturning the system, isn't it? What happens after you overturn it?"

I place my open palm on the back of my neck and squeeze my skin gently. "Ah, we haven't thought that far ahead, I'm afraid..." I respond in shame because we should have. "Why do you ask?"

She reaches into the pocket of her shorts, all while holding her eyes locked on mine, and hands me a piece of paper.

I unfold it and read the only sentence typed onto it.

 _Message received. Turn around and head into the other direction. Where you're going, there's nothing to be found._

* * *

 **AN:** Dear readers, Happy New Year! Have a successful and prosperous one!

I know, I know, I haven't updated in a while... in a long while. If there's one thing I hate, that's leaving something unfinished. However, a mix of my personal obligations, working, travelling and some long-standing health issues simply hasn't left me with a lot of time to write.

Me updating on the first day of the brand new year should be a good sign, yeah? I promise I'll try to update regularly!

Have a good one :)


	11. Chapter 11

**\- ELENA'S POV -**

I am furious; I am furious at myself, at him, at our government, at this situation we have found ourselves in. At the entire world, actually. At this irretrievably broken world we are forced to live in, forced to repopulate, forced to improve and revitalize under someone else's rules and conditions.

In moments of doubt, and in the world before those would multiply quickly, my mother would say to me that the sky is the limit. These days I'm learning that the bar is set much closer to the ground than the sky.

Darkness wraps its cold, hard hands around me, making my skin crawl; its grip is a guilty reminder of how much I enjoy seeing the world in color when I should be seeing it in black and white and, occasionally, shades of grey. Life here is made of discarded remains patched together into a cloth. Life here is also made of choices - people who choose to work outside have sun-kissed skin, those who choose to work inside have a fairer complexion. They choose their clothes and uneven, wooden bowls and tents they sleep in - and every one of their choices is unique, because every person is unique. They have less, but they have more, because they can smile and cry and argue without the device attached to their body dictating when and how and in which quantity is it okay for them to express their feelings. They are only controlled by their own actions. Everyone in Urbs is pale; people look like ghosts moving between cardboard buildings. They dress to blend in and live according to the system made to defy the very core of human nature. They can express and feel a limited range and variety of emotions like they're something you can turn on and off as you please. In Urbs, there is no room for honesty, freedom, coincidence or exception, only for what's been predetermined right or wrong.

I'm also learning that my faith in the system isn't based on belief, but on commodity. They won me over with safety and comfort instead of truth and conviction, and a part of me is still okay with that.

People are still gathered around the bonfire; they're singing, dancing and laughing it up, overall having a good time. I am not really in the mood to be surrounded by people, nor would I like anyone to see me worked up like this, so I stroll away in the opposite direction.

The taste of him still lingers inside of my mouth, tickling my taste buds like a craving left unfulfilled. Nothing I have ever done and regretted immediately has ever tasted sweeter. His palms are imprinted on my skin and despite the chilly air, I can still feel the burning sensation of his touch. He has made me feel so...

...wanted. When he started kissing me, I felt essential for his survival. His hands were hungry for my body, in a dire need to explore every inch of my skin; I never knew a touch could feel that way. I knew he wanted me, because he chose me - despite common sense, he chose me.

And none of my prior experiences with men were about having a choice. They were about us being deserving of one another because of how high or low we were on a scale of success. We would never choose each other, we would be assigned to one another.

When he told me he knows who I am, I was never more ashamed of myself, like I have disappointed him somehow. I was also relieved, because him already knowing saves us one uncomfortable future revelation.

I shake my head in a desperate attempt to get rid of those thoughts. I am on a mission here and no matter which direction the mission takes, it is not one of self-discovery.

When I remind myself of my mission, I also remember his testimony - he has found the message I have intended for our government officials. Did he leave the message after reading it, or did he take it with him? I am sure they have received my signal as soon as I have transmitted it, so if they came to the location and found nothing, they would know something is wrong. The only scenario worse than this one would be him leaving a message of his own, exposing me completely - what if they really never allow me to come back home? What if, no matter the outcome, this mission works only one-way?

I shiver at the speculation and quicken my pace, now half-running in panic.

My own message was only half true; why did I lie? Probably because I am not really sure who's telling the truth and who I can trust anymore. I am not even sure I can trust myself. Dammit, Stefan has gotten in my head as well as under my skin.

When I reach the location, I hurry towards the shrub behind which I have buried my message. The small pile is still there, as well as the transmitter. I swallow and start digging, the feeling of uncertainty weighing over me heavily, various future scenarios racing through my mind. I continue digging until I sense soft, moist paper underneath my fingers. I pull it from the ground very carefully so it doesn't tear and, after cleaning it from the soil, I unwrap it.

I finally manage to exhale when I see it is from them. The content of their message is quite strange, but at least they don't know that the mission has been compromised. I press the tiny flag on the top of the pole between my fingers and watch as the red light starts blinking before it turns off completely.

I pull the transmitter out of the ground and start walking back towards the direction of the camp. When I arrive, I will have to hide both the transmitter and the message somewhere - probably in my top - until I reach my tent.

I need sleep. Tomorrow, I will decide how to proceed.

* * *

I became aware of my body, thanks to other people, sooner than I should have. I was tall and thin and, even in the face of the conditions I was living in, I have managed to develop some semblance of curves. Suddenly, wearing shorts and tops became a dangerous game instead of a normal response to constant uncomfortable heath we were experiencing. I became aware of the way both boys and men looked at me as I walked down the street, making obscene observations about my body, about my ass and legs and breasts, and even neck when I would pick up my long bushy hair into a ponytail or a bun so it doesn't stick to my skin. Running and jumping and playing on the street wasn't an option anymore, not after my body became a tasteless story narrated by men. Over time, leaving my house turned into a hesitant decision making process and my family seemed pleased by that, aware that my body has become a weapon.

Back then, I was jealous of Caroline for many reasons, however, her breezy dresses were my primary source of apprehension. Not because she had better clothes than me, but because her dresses had the ability to hide the majority of her body without making her sweat like a pig.

When Urbs was established, when they decided to hide our bodies underneath unattractive, bland suits, I welcomed their decision with arms wide open. After I was promoted to my current position, I received access to the gym, so I started working out. I am still the same old me - tall, thin and curvy, with uncontrollable hair during humidity, but more toned. I am aware of the muscles throbbing underneath my skin, I am aware of my power and my fortitude, I am aware of my body and today I realize I have nothing to be ashamed of. My body is a weapon - mine, not theirs, and they will never use it against me again.

Still, being surrounded by all these men who are studying my body like they are searching for instructions on how to handle me brings me back to the time when all I wanted to do is cover myself up from head to toe to shade myself from the threatening male gaze.

I keep my eyes on the ground the entire time, however, I can still see him glancing at every single guy who serves me a wrong look. He is either jealous and protective over me or disgusted and ashamed of their behavior and, if I had a choice, I honestly have no idea which option would I rather choose.

After the meeting is over, I approach him and hand him the message I have retrieved from the ground yesterday, giving him a moment to read it; he seems as confused by it as I was.

"You changed my message, didn't you?" I ask. I am not accusing him of anything, I would simply like to be aware of what's going on.

He frowns, still observing the paper in his hand. "Not entirely, only any mention of the camp. Instead I wrote that you haven't found any traces of life and that you are planning to move in the opposite direction of where we are."

I take a step forward, moving closer to him so I can check their message one more time. "To which they respond _'turn around, there is nothing to be found there'_?" I make my sentence sound like a question when, in reality, I am only thinking out loud. Okay, their response makes more sense now. "But how do they know that there is nothing there?"

He closes his fingers around the piece of paper, thin material crumpling in his hand. "They know everything," he says calmly, matter-of-factly, but I can sense traces of nervousness in his voice.

"This," I point at his hand, referring to the message, "Makes no sense. If they know, then my mission was all for nothing!"

I pointed out that we had no record of him. I speculated there may be more people like him. And I had placed the idea of him living outside the city walls on the table. That is why I am here, after all, because I came up with that theory!

"Maybe," he shrugs, trying to keep his cool. "Or maybe they simply haven't told you the truth behind why you are really here."

I give him a sharp look. My first instinct is to defend them; it comes naturally to me, the urge to defy him. However, after giving it another thought, I realize that something like that isn't off the table anymore. Every scenario I was programmed to deny is probably only one step closer to the truth.

He looks up at me, intensely, like he is challenging me to a staring contest. "Why did you show me this?" he relaxes his fingers and opens his hand, presenting me with a ruined piece of paper on his palm. "You don't even believe in the Uprising."

"I don't," I say firmly. To be fair, a major reason why I don't support their cause is because he doesn't have a plan. I am an analytical, logical person - my employers have invested a lot of time and energy, and probably money, into convincing me that facts matter more than loyalty. If the facts were on his side, who's to say I wouldn't betray the system?

"The system may be flawed, but at least it is organised. It has a goal, a future."

"You are still defending them?" he asks, disgusted by the thought.

"What do you have? A bunch of frustrated men whose only goal is to burn everything to the ground," I rather continue my rant than answer his question. The truth is, I don't think I will ever be able to give him the answer that he wants to hear. "And then what? What are you going to do once you save all those people from the system you find so horrible? Move them here? Make them live in tents? To live like animals merely to survive? Is that the life worth living? How is your world better than the world before?"

Neither of us have moved an inch, so I am still standing close to him; I can hear his heartbeat, he is worked up again, yet he is trying super hard not to show how much my words bother him. He knows my words to be true; hell, he has probably spent countless sleepless nights trying to find a reasonable answer to these same questions.

The sun is especially dazzling today, its beams piercing through the delicate fabric of the sheets spread above us.

Yet, he will never admit that loudly, at least not to me.

"At least they would be free," he says, clenching his teeth as a way of controlling his own feelings of anger and despair.

"Your freedom comes at a price," I respond.

He straightens himself up - I honestly wasn't even aware that he was slumping until now - towering over me, reminding me that he is at least two heads taller than me. I am not afraid of him; I know he would never harm me, but his presence is hard to ignore.

He gives me a hard look, staring directly into my eyes, frustrated and angry. Then, after several seconds, his look softens and he exhales. "What do you want from me, Elena?" he groans, rubbing his temple with his thumb and forefinger.

"To be a leader," among other things.

"I am not one, though," he releases a desperate laugh. "I never wanted to be one. I never wanted any of this. All I wanted was to escape from - " he stops mid-sentence, leaving an unfinished secret hanging between us. He has almost revealed something about himself he doesn't want anyone to know, not even me. Maybe especially me. He pushes his face into his open palms, rubbing it vicariously up and down, groaning softly into his torrid skin. When he removes his hands away from his face, he reveals his red skin and watery eyes. "What do you care, anyway?"

I look up at him; his hair has become one with the sun beam lingering above him, making it seem like there is a halo above his head.

"Simply because I am not taking your side doesn't mean I am taking theirs. Those can't be my only two choices. This," I stretch my hand, pointing towards the camp, "or whatever is happening back there."

He doesn't say a word. Instead, he breaks our eye contact and steps back, moving away from me. When he leaves, I realize our bodies were creating all this heath and energy between us; when he leaves my proximity, a wave of chilly air washes over me.

"Look, I never wanted any of this either. Nevertheless, this is what we have, so maybe life is about doing what you have to do instead of what you want to do."

This is the first time I have admitted to myself, and someone else, that this isn't the life I dreamed about back when I still believed dreams come true. If I had a choice, I would have never chosen this job or my flat or Damon.

He puts his hands on his hips and looks up at the sky, speechless. At this moment, I would give a penny for his thoughts.

Silence falls around us; it is not uncomfortable, however, I miss the sound of his voice and I would like for it to make itself known again.

"How did you know who I am?" I ask.

He smiles, still looking up at the sky. His jaw is tightly shaped, like someone carved it out of a rock, yet his smile is so delicate that it softens all of his features as well. "I didn't," he says, finally looking down and leveling his eyes with mine. "Well, kinda. I saw you back in the city, only once. I saw you talking to someone, and then you started walking in my direction. You looked straight at me, into my eyes, breaking one of your own rules. I honestly thought I was a dead man, until you walked past me and kept walking. I saw a red flag pinned onto your blazer, which is how I knew you were a spy, yet I didn't manage to catch your name; I learned it when you came here."

I... I remember that; I was on a mission and on my way back to the Complex, I stopped to see Caroline. And I did see him, I did look into his eyes, I did walk past him, convincing myself I am seeing things. I was sleep deprived and I was staring into his profile for too long.

"I did break the rules," I smile; I was an occasional rule breaker, working my way around the system. "How did you know I was a spy?" I push further, hoping I have gained enough of his trust to receive an answer to one simple question before I move to more complicated ones in the future.

He walks towards the tables and leans onto them, half-sitting on the edge of the wooden surface. "I have information," he shrugs. "I think I know more about your system than you would have hoped. However, I am still unclear about what a spy does, exactly," he inclines his head curiously to the side.

"Ah," I release an unidentified sound and come to stand next to him. The same old feeling of warmth between our bodies comes back and the wood prickles my skin when I lean against the table.

"Well, basically, every person has a number, assigned by the system. Well, um, the numbers are connected to the devices which allows us to monitor their behavior and search for irregularities."

His expression is blank. "And you are here why?"

"To learn more about you and your plans," I shrug; I give him a simplified version of the truth.

"Why you?"

"You know, they think you and your Uprising are a real threat to the system and everything it represents. They know hiding you and your little stunts from the public won't be possible for long anymore. They are afraid of mass panic and hysteria, so they chose several top performing spies, gathered us in a room and handed us your file so we can come up with a solution how to stop you. I know everything about you. Well, I know everything they know about you. I think a copy of your file still sits on my kitchen table," I smile. "So, I came up with this. Infiltration mission."

He nods, deep in thought. "Am I all you expected me to be?"

I try to remember him the way I saw him in my head before I actually knew him. When it was only me and him and a glass of wine in my simple, lonely flat. "Not even close."

"Oh?" he tilts his head.

"I think I have underestimated you in some things and overestimated you in others. Also, I expected you to be more villainy. When, in reality, you are just a boy."

He looks at me, studying my expression before answering, "And you are just a girl."

I look back at him, stunned by the clarity of his words. "Yeah, I am."

He furrows his brows. "So, where do we go from here?"

I exhale. "Look, I am a factual person, and some of the facts simply don't add up here. For now, all I want is the truth."

He stays quiet for a while, clearly pondering on my statement.

"Yeah, I think I could use some truth too," he agrees. "I don't think others will go for it, though. They want action."

I shrug. "Then we don't tell them. We can work on this alone, until we have something concrete to share."

He nods. "Sounds like a plan."


End file.
